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SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


BOOK’S  BY  J.  M.  BARRIE 

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“i  WOULD  GIVE  A POUND  NOTE  TO  KNOW  WHAT  YOU’LL  BE 
TEN  YEARS  FROM  NOW  ” 


SENTIMENTAL 

TOMMY 


THE  STORY  OE  HIS  BOYHOOD 


BY 

J.  M.  BARRIE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  WILLIAM  HATBERELL 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 
1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1896,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 


0 AP  ' 1 6 J £ Q 


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CONTENTS 


Chaptkb  Pao» 

I Tommy  Contrives  to  keep  One  out  ...  1 

II  But  the  Other  gets  in 15 

m Showing  how  Tommy  was  suddenly  trans- 
formed into  a Young  Gentleman  . . 26 

IY  The  End  of  an  Idyll  40 

V The  Girl  with  Two  Mothers 54 

VI  The  Enchanted  Street 63 

Y1I  Comic  Overture  to  a Tragedy  ....  75 

VIII  The  Boy  with  Two  Mothers 86 

IX  Auld  Lang  Syne 101 

X The  Favorite  of  the  Ladies 112 

XI  Aaron  Latta 127 

XII  A Child’s  Tragedy 141 

XIII  Shows  how  Tommy  took  Care  of  Elspeth  158 

XIV  The  Hanky  School .165 

XV  The  Man  who  Never  Came 175 

XVI  The  Painted  Lady 187 

XVII  In  which  Tommy  Solves  the  Woman 

Problem 19fr 

XVIII  The  Muckley 205 

XIX  Corp  is  Brought  to  Heel — Grizel  De- 
fiant   219 

XX  The  Shadow  of  Sir  Walter 231 


VI 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Pa«b 

XXI  The  Last  Jacobite  Rising 244 

XXII  The  Siege  of  Thrums  .......  259 

XXIII  Grizel  pays  Three  Visits 273 

XXIV  A Romance  of  Two  Old  Maids  and  a 

Stout  Bachelor 283 

XXV  A Penny  Pass-Book  ........  302 

XXVI  Tommy  Repents,  and  is  none  the  Worse 

for  it 315 

XXVII  The  Longer  Catechism 328 

XXVIII  But  it  should  have  been  Miss  Kitty  . . 337 

XXIX  Tommy  the  Scholar  . 343 

XXX  End  of  the  Jacobite  Rising 356 

XXXI  A Letter  to  God  369 

XXXII  An  Elopement 383 

XXXIII  There  is  Some  One  to  love  Grizel 

at  Last 401 

XXXIV  Who  told  Tommy  to  Speak 415 

XXXV  The  Branding  of  Tommy 429 

XXXVI  Of  Four  Ministers  who  afterwards 

BOASTED  THAT  THEY  HAD  KNOWN  TOMMY 

Sandys 446 

XXXVII  The  End  of  a Boyhood 466 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 

“ I WOULD  GIVE  A FOUND  NOTE  TO  KNOW  WHAT  YOU  *LL  BE 


ten  teaks  from  now  ” Frontispiece 

Bob  fell  in  love  with  him  on  the  spot 50 

“ Let  her  alane.  Let  my  bairn  fray  for  Jean  Myles”  74 

" She  ’s  dying,  man,”  he  cried 138 

They  saw  the  window  open  and  a figure  in  a white 

shawl  creep  out  of  it 194 

They,  waylaid  Grizel  when  she  was  alone  ...  .274 

Tommy  crouched  behind  Haggart’s  Stone 316 


Over  her  head  was  a little  muslin  window-blind, 


REPRESENTING  A BRIDE7S  VEIL 338 

Grizel  stood  by  the  body,  guarding  it 370 

He  ran  them  down  within  a mile  of  Tilliedrum  . . 404 
A GIRL  ROSE  FROM  THE  BROOM 476 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


THE  STORY  OF  HIS  BOYHOOD 


CHAPTER  I 

TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT 

The  celebrated  Tommy  first  comes  into  view  on  a 
dirty  London  stair,  and  he  was  in  sexless  garment^ 
which  were  all  he  had,  and  he  was  five,  and  so  though 
we  are  looking  at  him,  we  must  do  it  sideways,  lest  he 
sit  down  hurriedly  to  hide  them.  That  inscrutable  face, 
which  made  the  clubmen  of  his  later  days  uneasy  and 
even  puzzled  the  ladies  while  he  was  making  love  to 
them,  was  already  his,  except  when  he  smiled  at  one  of 
his  pretty  thoughts  or  stopped  at  an  open  door  to  sniff  a 
potful.  On  his  way  up  and  down  the  stair  he  often 
paused  to  sniff,  but  he  never  asked  for  anything;  his 
mother  had  warned  him  against  it,  and  he  carried  out 
her  injunction  with  almost  unnecessary  spirit,  declining 
offers  before  they  were  made,  as  when  passing  a room, 
whence  came  the  smell  of  fried  fish,  he  might  call  in, 
“I  don’t  not  want  none  of  your  fish,”  or  “My  mother 
says  I don’t  not  want  the  littlest  bit,”  or  wistfully,  “ I 


2 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


ain't  hungry,"  or  more  wistfully  still,  “ My  mother  says 
I ain't  hungry."  His  mother  heard  of  this  and  was 
angry,  crying  that  he  had  let  the  neighbors  know  some- 
thing she  was  anxious  to  conceal,  but  what  he  had  re- 
vealed to  them  Tommy  could  not  make  out,  and  when 
he  questioned  her  artlessly,  she  took  him  with  sudden 
passion  to  her  flatjbreast,  and  often  after  that  she  looked 
at  him  long  and  wofully  and  wrung  her  hands. 

The  only  other  pleasant  smell  known  to  Tommy  was 
when  the  water-carts  passed  the  mouth  of  his  little 
street.  His  street,  which  ended  in  a dead  wall,  was  near 
the  river,  but  on  the  doleful  south  side  of  it,  opening  off 
a longer  street  where  the  cabs  of  Waterloo  station  some- 
times found  themselves  when  they  took  the  wrong  turn- 
ing ; his  home  was  at  the  top  of  a house  of  four  floors, 
each  with  accommodation  for  at  least  two  families,  and 
here  he  had  lived  with  his  mother  since  his  father’s  death 
six  months  ago.  There  was  oil-cloth  on  the  stair  as  far  as 
the  second  floor;  there  had  been  oil-cloth  between  the 
second  floor  and  the  third  — Tommy  could  point  out 
pieces  of  it  still  adhering  to  the  wood  like  remnants  of  a 
plaster. 

This  stair  was  nursery  to  all  the  children  whose  homes 
opened  on  it,  not  so  safe  as  nurseries  in  the  part  of  Lon- 
don that  is  chiefly  inhabited  by  boys  in  sailor  suits,  but 
preferable  as  a centre  of  adventure,  and  here  on  an  after- 
noon sat  two.  They  were  very  busy  boasting,  but  only 
the  smaller  had  imagination,  and  as  he  used  it  recklessly, 


TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT  * 

their  positions  soon  changed  5 sexless  garments  was  now 
prone  on  a step,  breeches  sitting  on  him. 

Shovel,  a man  of  seven,  had  said,  “ None  on  your  lip. 
You  were  n’t  never  at  Thrums  yourself.” 

Tommy’s  reply  was,  “ Ain’t  my  mother  a Thrums 
woman  ? 99 

Shovel,  who  had  but  one  eye,  and  that  bloodshot,  fixed 
it  on  him  threateningly. 

“ The  Thames  is  in  London,”  he  said. 

“’Cos  they  wouldn’t  not  have  it  in  Thrums,”  replied 
Tommy. 

“ ’Amstead  ’Eath ’s  in  London,  I tell  yer,”  Shovel  said. 
(i  The  cemetery  is  in  Thrums,”  said  Tommy. 

" There  ain’t  no  queens  in  Thrums,  anyhow.” 
“There’s  the  auld  licht  minister.” 

“ Well,  then,  if  you  jest  seed  Trafalgar  Square  ! 99 
“If  you  jest  seed  the  Thrums  town-house! 99 
“ St.  Paul’s  ain’t  in  Thrums.” 

“It  would  like  to  be.” 

After  reflecting,  Shovel  said  in  desperation,  “Well, 
then,  my  father  were  once  at  a hanging.” 

Tommy  replied  instantly,  “ It  were  my  father  what 
was  hanged.” 

There  was  no  possible  answer  to  this  save  a knock- 
down blow,  but  though  Tommy  was  vanquished  in  body, 
his  spirit  remained  stanch  5 he  raised  his  head  and  gasped, 
“ You  should  see  how  they  knock  down  in  Thrums  !”  It 
was  then  that  Shovel  sat  on  him. 


4 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Such  was  their  position  when  an  odd  figure  in  that 
house,  a gentleman,  passed  them  without  a word,  so 
desirous  was  he  to  make  a breath  taken  at  the  foot  of  the 
close  stair  last  him  to  the  top.  Tommy  merely  gaped 
after  this  fine  sight,  but  Shovel  had  experience,  and 
“ It  ’s  a kid  or  a coffin,”  he  said  sharply,  knowing  that 
only  birth  or  death  brought  a doctor  here. 

Watching  the  doctor’s  ascent,  the  two  boys  strained 
their  necks  over  the  rickety  banisters,  which  had  been 
polished  black  by  trousers  of  the  past,  and  sometimes 
they  lost  him,  and  then  they  saw  his  legs  again. 

" Hello,  it’s  your  old  woman!”  cried  Shovel.  “ Is 
she  a deader  ? ” he  asked,  brightening,  for  funerals  made 
a pleasant  stir  on  the  stair. 

The  question  had  no  meaning  for  bewildered  Tommy, 
but  he  saw  that  if  his  mother  was  a deader,  whatever 
that  might  be,  he  had  grown  great  in  his  companion’s 
eye.  So  he  hoped  she  was  a deader. 

“ If  it ’s  only  a kid,”  Shovel  began,  with  such  scorn 
that  Tommy  at  once  screamed,  "It  ain’t!”  and,  cross- 
examined,  he  swore  eagerly  that  his  mother  was  in  bed 
when  he  left  her  in  the  morning,  that  she  was  still  in 
bed  at  dinner-time,  also  that  the  sheet  was  over  her  face, 
also  that  she  was  cold. 

Then  she  was  a deader  and  had  attained  distinction  in 
the  only  way  possible  in  that  street.  Shovel  did  not 
shake  Tommy’s  hand  warmly,  the  forms  of  congratula- 
tion varying  in  different  parts  of  London,  but  he  looked 


TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT 


5 


his  admiration  so  plainly  that  Tommy’s  head  waggled 
proudly.  Evidently,  whatever  his  mother  had  done 
redounded  to  his  glory  as  well  as  to  hers,  and  somehow 
he  had  become  a boy  of  mark.  He  said  from  his  eleva- 
tion that  he  hoped  Shovel  would  believe  his  tales  about 
Thrums  now,  and  Shovel,  who  had  often  cuffed  Tommy 
for  sticking  to  him  so  closely,  cringed  in  the  most  snob- 
bish manner,  craving  permission  to  be  seen  in  his  com- 
pany for  the  next  three  days.  Tommy,  the  upstart,  did 
not  see  his  way  to  grant  this  favor  for  nothing,  and 
Shovel  offered  a knife,  but  did  not  have  it  with  him ; it 
was  his  sister  Ameliar’s  knife,  and  he  would  take  it  from 
her,  help  his  davy.  Tommy  would  wait  there  till  Shovel 
fetched  it.  Shovel,  baffled,  wanted  to  know  what  Tommy 
was  putting  on  hairs  for.  Tommy  smiled,  and  asked 
whose  mother  was  a deader.  Then  Shovel  collapsed,  and 
his  wind  passed  into  Tommy. 

The  reign  of  Thomas  Sandys,  nevertheless,  was  among 
the  shortest,  for  with  this  question  was  he  overthrown  : 
“ How  did  yer  know  she  were  cold  ? ” 

“Because,”  replied  Tommy,  triumphantly,  “she  tell 
me  herself.” 

Shovel  only  looked  at  him,  but  one  eye  can  be  so 
much  more  terrible  than  two,  that  plop,  plop,  plop  came 
the  balloon  softly  down  the  steps  of  the  throne  and  at 
the  foot  shrank  pitifully,  as  if  with  Ameliar’s  knife 
in  it. 

“ It’s  only  a kid  arter  all!  ” screamed  Shovel,  furi 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


ously.  Disappointment  gave  him  eloquence,  and  Tommy 
cowered  under  his  sneers,  not  understanding  them,  but 
they  seemed  to  amount  to  this,  that  in  having  a baby 
he  had  disgraced  the  house. 

“ But  I think,1 ” he  said,  with  diffidence,  “ I think  I 
were  once  one.” 

Then  all  Shovel  could  say  was  that  he  had  better  keep 
it  dark  on  that  stair. 

Tommy  squeezed  his  fist  into  one  eye,  and  the  tears 
came  out  at  the  other.  A good-natured  impulse  was 
about  to  make  Shovel  say  that  though  kids  are  un- 
doubtedly humiliations,  mothers  and  boys  get  used  to 
them  in  time,  and  go  on  as  brazenly  as  before,  but  it  was 
checked  by  Tommy’s  unfortunate  question,  “Shovel, 
when  will  it  come  ? ” 

Shovel,  speaking  from  local  experience,  replied  truth- 
fully that  they  usually  came  very  soon  after  the  doctor, 
and  at  times  before  him. 

“It  ain’t  come  before  him,”  Tommy  said,  confidently. 

“ How  do  yer  know  ? ” 

“’Cos  it  weren’t  there  at  dinner-time,  and  I been 
here  since  dinner-time.” 

The  words  meant  that  Tommy  thought  it  could  only 
enter  by  way  of  the  stair,  and  Shovel  quivered  with 
delight.  “H’st!”  he  cried,  dramatically,  and  to  his 
joy  Tommy  looked  anxiously  down  the  stair,  instead  of 
up  it. 

“ Did  you  hear  it  ? ” Tommy  whispered. 


TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT 


7 


Before  he  could  control  himself  Shovel  blurted  out: 
u Do  you  think  as  they  come  on  their  feet  ? ” 

“How  then?”  demanded  Tommy;  but  Shovel  had 
exhausted  his  knowledge  of  the  subject.  Tommy,  who 
had  begun  to  descend  to  hold  the  door,  turned  and 
climbed  upwards,  and  his  tears  were  now  but  the  drop 
left  in  a cup  too  hurriedly  dried.  Where  was  he  off  to? 
Shovel  called  after  him ; and  he  answered,  in  a deter- 
mined whisper : “ To  shove  of  it  out  if  it  tries  to  come 
in  at  the  winder.” 

This  was  enough  for  the  more  knowing  urchin,  now 
so  full  of  good  things  that  with  another  added  he  must 
spill,  and  away  he  ran  for  an  audience,  which  could 
also  help  him  to  bait  Tommy,  that  being  a game  most 
sportive  when  there  are  several  to  fling  at  once.  At 
the  door  he  knocked  over,  and  was  done  with,  a laugh- 
ing little  girl  who  had  strayed  from  a more  fashionable 
street.  She  rose  solemnly,  and  kissing  her  muff,  to 
reassure  it  if  it  had  got  a fright,  toddled  in  at  the  first 
open  door  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  unmannerly  boys. 

Tommy,  climbing  courageously,  heard  the  door  slam, 
and  looking  down  he  saw  — a strange  child.  He  climbed 
no  higher.  It  had  come. 

After  a long  time  he  was  one  flight  of  stairs  nearer 
it.  It  was  making  itself  at  home  on  the  bottom  step ; 
resting,  doubtless,  before  it  came  hopping  up.  Another 
dozen  steps,  and  — It  was  beautifully  dressed  in  one 
piece  of  yellow  and  brown  that  reached  almost  to  its 


8 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


feet,  with  a bit  left  at  the  top  to  form  a hood,  out  of 
which  its  pert  face  peeped  impudently;  oho,  so  they 
came  in  their  Sunday  clothes.  He  drew  so  near  that 
he  could  hear  it  cooing:  thought  itself  as  good  as 
upstairs,  did  it! 

He  bounced  upon  her  sharply,  thinking  to  carry  all 
with  a high  hand.  “Out  you  go!”  he  cried,  with  the 
action  of  one  heaving  coals. 

She  whisked  round,  and,  “Oo  boy  or  oo  girl?”  she 
inquired,  puzzled  by  his  dress. 

“None  of  your  cheek!”  roared  insulted  manhood. 

“Oo  boy,”  she  said,  decisively. 

With  the  effrontery  of  them  when  they  are  young, 
she  made  room  for  him  on  her  step,  but  he  declined  the 
invitation,  knowing  that  her  design  was  to  skip  up  the 
stair  the  moment  he  was  off  his  guard. 

“You  don’t  needn’t  think  as  we  ’ll  have  you,”  he  an- 
nounced, firmly.  “ You  had  best  go  away  to — go  to  — ” 
His  imagination  failed  him.  “You  had  best  go  back,” 
he  said. 

She  did  not  budge,  however,  and  his  next  attempt 
was  craftier.  “My  mother,”  he  assured  her,  “ain’t 
living  here  now ; ” but  mother  was  a new  word  to  the 
girl,  and  she  asked  gleefully,  “ Oo  have  mother  ? ” 
expecting  him  to  produce  it  from  his  pocket.  To  coax 
him  to  give  her  a sight  of  it  she  said,  plaintively , “ Me 
no  have  mother.” 

“You  won’t  not  get  mine,”  replied  Tommy  doggedly. 


TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT 


9 


She  pretended  not  to  understand  what  was  troubling 
him,  and  it  passed  through  his  head  that  she  had  to 
wait  there  till  the  doctor  came  down  for  her.  He 
might  come  at  any  moment. 

A boy  does  not  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  until 
every  other  means  of  gaining  his  end  has  failed,  but  to 
that  extremity  had  Tommy  now  come.  For  months  his 
only  splendid  possession  had  been  a penny  despised  by 
trade  because  of  a large  round  hole  in  it,  as  if  (to  quote 
Shovel)  some  previous  owner  had  cut  a farthing  out  of 
it.  To  tell  the  escapades  of  this  penny  (there  are  no 
adventurers  like  coin  of  the  realm)  would  be  one  way 
of  exhibiting  Tommy  to  the  curious,  but  it  would  be  a 
hard-hearted  way.  At  present  the  penny  was  doubly 
tfear  to  him,  having  been  long  lost  and  lately  found. 
In  a noble  moment  he  had  dropped  it  into  a charity 
Jox  hanging  forlorn  against  the  wall  of  a shop,  where 
it  lay  very  lonely  by  itself,  so  that  when  Tommy  was 
that  way  he  could  hear  it  respond  if  he  shook  the  box, 
as  acquaintances  give  each  other  the  time  of  day  in 
passing.  Thus  at  comparatively  small  outlay  did  he 
spread  his  benevolence  over  weeks  and  feel  a glow 
therefrom,  until  the  glow  went,  when  he  and  Shovel 
recaptured  the  penny  with  a thread  and  a bent  pin. 

This  treasure  he  sadly  presented  to  the  girl,  and  she 
accepted  it  with  glee,  putting  it  on  her  finger,  as  if  it 
were  a ring,  but  instead  of  saying  that  she  would  go 
now  she  asked  him,  coolly, 


10 


SElwXMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Oo  know  tories  ? ” 

“ Stories ! ” he  exclaimed,  “ I ’ll  — I ’ll  tell  you  about 
Thrums,”  and  was  about  to  do  it  for  love,  but  stopped 
in  time.  “This  ain’t  a good  stair  for  stories,”  he  said, 
cunningly.  “ I can’t  not  tell  stories  on  this  stair,  but 
I — I know  a good  stair  for  stories.” 

The  ninny  of  a girl  was  completely  hoodwinked;  and 
see,  there  they  go,  each  with  a hand  in  the  muff,  the 
one  leering,  oh,  so  triumphantly;  the  other  trusting 
and  gleeful.  There  was  an  exuberance  of  vitality  about 
her  as  if  she  lived  too  quickly  in  her  gladness,  which 
you  may  remember  in  some  child  who  visited  the  earth 
for  but  a little  while. 

How  superbly  Tommy  had  done  it!  It  had  been 
another  keen  brain  pitted  against  his,  and  at  first  he 
was  not  winning.  Then  up  came  Thrums,  and  — But 
the  thing  has  happened  before;  in  a word,  Blucher. 
Nevertheless,  Tommy  just  managed  it,  for  he  got  the 
girl  out  of  the  street  and  on  to  another  stair  no  more 
than  in  time  to  escape  a ragged  rabble,  headed  by 
Shovel,  who,  finding  their  quarry  gone,  turned  on  their 
leader  viciously,  and  had  gloomy  views  of  life  till  his 
cap  was  kicked  down  a sewer,  which  made  the  world 
bright  again. 

Of  the  tales  told  by  Tommy  that  day  in  words  Scotch 
and  cockney,  of  Thrums,  home  of  heroes  and  the  arts, 
where  the  lamps  are  lit  by  a magician  called  Leerie- 
leerie-licht-the-lamps  (but  he  is  also  friendly,  and  you 


TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT  11 


can  fling  stones  at  him),  and  the  merest  children  are 
allowed  to  set  the  spinning-wheels  a-whirling,  and 
dagont  is  the  swear,  and  the  stairs  are  so  fine  that  the 
houses  wear  them  outside  for  show,  and  you  drop  a pail 
at  the  end  of  a rope  down  a hole,  and  sometimes  it 
comes  up  full  of  water,  and  sometimes  full  of  fairies  — 
of  these  and  other  wonders,  if  you  would  know,  ask  not 
a dull  historian,  nor  even  go  to  Thrums,  but  to  those 
rather  who  have  been  boys  and  girls  there  and  now  are 
exiles.  Such  a one  Tommy  knows,  an  unhappy  woman, 
foolish,  not  very  lovable,  flung  like  a stone  out  of  the 
red  quarry  upon  a land  where  it  cannot  grip,  and  tear- 
ing her  heart  for  a sight  of  the  home  she  shall  see  no 
more.  From  her  Tommy  had  his  pictures,  and  he 
colored  them  rarely. 

Never  before  had  he  such  a listener.  “ Oh,  dagont, 
dagont!”  he  would  cry  in  ecstasy  over  these  fair 
scenes,  and  she,  awed  or  gurgling  with  mirth  according 
to  the  nature  of  the  last,  demanded  “ Mother,  ?nother!  ” 
whereat  he  remembered  who  and  what  she  was,  and 
showing  her  a morsel  of  the  new  one,  drew  her  to  more 
distant  parts,  until  they  were  so  far  from  his  street 
that  he  thought  she  would  never  be  able  to  find  the  way 
back. 

His  intention  had  been,  on  reaching  such  a spot,  to 
desert  her  promptly,  but  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  the 
muff  so  confidingly  that  against  his  judgment  he  fell 
a-pitying  the  trustful  mite  who  was  wandering  the 


12 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


world  in  search  of  a mother,  and  so  easily  diddled  on 
the  whole  that  the  chances  were  against  her  finding  one 
before  morning.  Almost  unconsciously  he  began  to 
look  about  him  for  a suitable  one. 

They  were  now  in  a street  much  nearer  to  his  own 
home  than  the  spurts  from  spot  to  spot  had  led  him  to 
suppose.  It  was  new  to  him,  but  he  recognized  it  as 
the  acme  of  fashion  by  those  two  sure  signs  5 railings 
with  most  of  their  spikes  in  place,  and  cards  scored 
with  the  word  “Apartments.”  He  had  discovered  such 
streets  as  this  before  when  in  Shovel’s  company,  and 
they  had  watched  the  toffs  go  out  and  in,  and  it  was  a 
lordly  sight,  for  first  the  toff  waggled  a rail  that  was 
loose  at  the  top  and  then  a girl,  called  the  servant, 
peeped  at  him  from  below,  and  then  he  pulled  the  rail 
again,  and  then  the  door  opened  from  the  inside,  and 
you  had  a glimpse  of  wonder-land  with  a place  for  hang- 
ing hats  on.  He  had  not  contemplated  doing  anything 
so  handsome  for  the  girl  as  this,  but  why  should  he  not 
establish  her  here  ? There  were  many  possible  mothers 
in  view,  and  thrilling  with  a sense  of  his  generosity  he 
had  almost  fixed  on  one  but  mistrusted  the  glint  in  her 
eye,  and  on  another  when  she  saved  herself  by  tripping 
and  showing  an  undarned  heel. 

He  was  still  of  an  open  mind  when  the  girl  of  a 
sudden  cried,  gleefully,  “ Ma-ma,  ma-ma ! 99  and  pointed, 
with  her  muff,  across  the  street.  The  word  was  as 
meaningless  to  Tommy  as  mother  had  been  to  her,  but 


TOMMY  CONTRIVES  TO  KEEP  ONE  OUT  13 


he  saw  that  she  was  drawing  his  attention  to  a woman 
some  thirty  yards  away. 

“Man  — man!"  he  echoed,  chiding  her  ignorance; 
“no,  no,  you  blether,  that  ain’t  a man,  that ’s  a woman; 
that ’s  woman  — woman." 

“Ooman  — ooman,"  the  girl  repeated,  docilely,  but 
when  she  looked  again,  “Ma-ma,  ma-ma,”  she  insisted, 
and  this  was  Tommy’s  first  lesson  that  however  young 
you  catch  them  they  will  never  listen  to  reason. 

She  seemed  of  a mind  to  trip  off  to  this  woman,  and 
as  long  as  his  own  mother  was  safe,  it  did  not  greatly 
matter  to  Tommy  whom  she  chose,  but  if  it  was  this 
one,  she  was  going  the  wrong  way  about  it.  You  can- 
not snap  them  up  in  the  street. 

The  proper  course  was  to  track  her  to  her  house, 
which  he  proceeded  to  cto,  and  his  quarry,  who  was 
looking  about  her  anxiously,  as  if  she  had  lost  some- 
thing, gave  him  but  a short  chase.  In  the  next  street 
to  the  one  in  which  they  had  first  seen  her,  a street  so 
like  it  that  Tommy  might  have  admired  her  for  know- 
ing the  difference,  she  opened  the  door  with  a key  and 
entered,  shutting  the  door  behind  her.  Odd  to  tell,  the 
child  had  pointed  to  this  door  as  the  one  she  would  stop 
at,  which  surprised  Tommy  very  much. 

On  the  steps  he  gave  her  his  final  instructions,  and 
she  dimpled  and  gurgled,  obviously  full  of  admiration 
for  him,  which  was  a thing  he  approved  of,  but  he 
would  have  liked  to  see  her  a little  more  serious. 


14 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“That  is  the  door.  Well,  then,  I’ll  waggle  the  rail 
as  makes  the  bell  ring,  and  then  I ’ll  run.” 

That  was  all,  and  he  wished  she  had  not  giggled  most 
of  the  time.  She  was  sniggering,  as  if  she  thought 
him  a very  funny  boy,  even  when  he  rang  the  bell  and 
bolted. 

From  a safe  place  he  watched  the  opening  of  the 
door,  and  saw  the  frivolous  thing  lose  a valuable 
second  in  waving  the  muff  to  him.  “ In  you  go ! ” he 
screamed  beneath  his  breath.  Then  she  entered  and 
the  door  closed.  He  waited  an  hour,  or  two  minutes, 
or  thereabout,  and  she  had  not  been  ejected.  Triumph ! 

With  a drum  beating  inside  him  Tommy  strutted 
home,  where,  alas,  a boy  was  waiting  to  put  his  foot 
through  it. 


CHAPTER  II 


BUT  THE  OTHER  GETS  IK 

To  Tommy,  a swaggerer,  came  Shovel  sour-visaged ; 
having  now  no  cap  of  his  own,  he  exchanged  with 
Tommy,  would  also  have  bled  the  blooming  mouth  of 
him,  but  knew  of  a revenge  that  saves  the  knuckles: 
announced,  with  jeers  and  offensive  finger  exercise,  that 
“ it  ” had  come. 

Shovel  was  a liar.  If  he  only  knowed  what  Tommy 
knowed  ! 

If  Tommy  only  heard  what  Shovel  had  hearn  ! 

Tommy  was  of  opinion  that  Shovel  had  n’t  not  heard 
anything. 

.Shovel  believed  as  Tommy  did  n’t  know  nuthin. 

Tommy  would  n’t  listen  to  what  Shovel  had  heard. 

Neither  would  Shovel  listen  to  what  Tommy  knew. 

If  Shovel  would  tell  what  he  had  heard,  Tommy 
would  tell  what  he  knew. 

Well,  then,  Shovel  had  listened  at  the  door,  and 
heard  it  mewling. 

Tommy  knowed  it  well,  and  it  never  mewled. 

How  could  Tommy  know  it  ? 


16 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


’Cos  he  had  been  with  it  a long  time. 

Gosh ! Why,  it  had  only  corned  a minute  ago. 

This  made  Tommy  uneasy,  and  he  asked  a leading 
question  cunningly.  A boy,  was  n’t  it  ? 

No,  Shovel’s  old  woman  had  been  up  helping  to  hold 
it,  and  she  said  it  were  a girl. 

Shutting  his  mouth  tightly,  which  was  never  natural 
to  him,  the  startled  Tommy  mounted  the  stair,  listened 
and  was  convinced.  He  did  not  enter  his  dishonored 
home.  He  had  no  intention  of  ever  entering  it  again. 
With  one  salt  tear  he  renounced  — a child,  a mother. 

On  his  way  downstairs  he  was  received  by  Shovel  and 
party,  who  planted  their  arrows  neatly.  Kids  cried 
steadily,  he  was  told,  for  the  first  year.  A boy  one  was 
bad  enough,  but  a girl  one  was  oh  lawks.  He  must 
never  again  expect  to  get  playing  with  blokes  like  what 
they  was.  Already  she  had  got  round  his  old  gal  who 
would  care  for  him  no  more.  What  would  they  say 
about  this  in  Thrums  ? 

Shovel  even  insisted  on  returning  him  his  cap,  and 
for  some  queer  reason,  this  cut  deepest.  Tommy  about 
to  charge,  with  his  head  down,  now  walked  away  so 
quietly  that  Shovel,  who  could  not  help  liking  the 
funny  little  cuss,  felt  a twinge  of  remorse,  and  nearly 
followed  him  with  a magnanimous  offer:  to  treat  him 
as  if  he  were  still  respectable. 

Tommy  lay  down  on  a distant  stair,  one  of  the  very 
stairs  where  she  had  sat  with  him.  Ladies,  don’t  you 


BUT  THE  OTHER  GETS  IN 


17 


dare  to  pity  him  now,  for  he  won’t  stand  it.  Kage  was 
what  he  felt,  and  a man  in  a rage  (as  you  may  know  if 
you  are  married)  is  only  to  be  soothed  by  the  sight  of 
all  womankind  in  terror  of  him.  But  you  may  look 
upon  your  handiwork,  and  gloat,  an  you  will,  on  the 
wreck  you  have  made.  A young  gentleman  trusted  one 
of  you;  behold  the  result.  0!  0!  0!  0!  now  do  you 
understand  why  we  men  cannot  abide  you  ? 

If  she  had  told  him  flat  that  his  mother,  and  his 
alone,  she  would  have,  and  so  there  was  an  end  of  it. 
Ah,  catch  them  taking  a straight  road.  But  to  put  on 
those  airs  of  helplessness , to  wave  him  that  gay  good- 
by,  and  then  the  moment  his  back  was  turned,  to  be  off 
through  the  air  on  — perhaps  on  her  muff,  to  the  home 
he  had  thought  to  lure  her  from.  In  a word,  to  be 
diddled  by  a girl  when  one  flatters  himself  he  is  did- 
dling! S’death,  a dashing  fellow  finds  it  hard  to  bear. 
Nevertheless,  he  has  to  bear  it,  for  oh,  Tommy,  Tommy, 
;t  is  the  common  lot  of  man. 

His  hand  sought  his  pocket  for  the  penny  that  had 
brought  him  comfort  in  dark  hours  before  now;  but, 
alack,  she  had  deprived  him  even  of  it.  Never  again 
should  his  pinkie  finger  go  through  that  warm  hole,  and 
at  the  thought  a sense  of  his  forlornness  choked  him. 
and  he  cried.  You  may  pity  him  a little  now. 

Darkness  came  and  hid  him  even  from  himself.  He 
is  not  found  again  until  a time  of  the  night  that  is  not 
marked  on  ornamental  clocks,  but  has  an  hour  to  itself 

a , ^ 


18 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


on  the  watch  which  a hundred  thousand  or  so  of  London 
women  carry  in  their  breasts ; the  hour  when  men  steal 
homewards  trickling  at  the  mouth  and  drawing  back 
from  their  own  shadows  to  the  wives  they  once  went 
a-maying  with,  or  the  mothers  who  had  such  travail  at 
the  bearing  of  them,  as  if  for  great  ends.  Out  of  this, 
the  drunkard’s  hour,  rose  the  wan  face  of  Tommy,  who 
had  waked  up  somewhere  clammy  cold  and  quaking, 
and  he  was  a very  little  boy,  so  he  ran  to  his  mother. 

Such  a shabby  dark  room  it  was,  but  it  was  home, 
such  a weary  worn  woman  in  the  bed,  but  he  was  her 
son,  and  she  had  been  wringing  her  hands  because  he 
was  so  long  in  coming,  and  do  you  think  he  hurt  her 
when  he  pressed  his  head  on  her  poor  breast,  and  do 
you  think  she  grudged  the  heat  his  cold  hands  drew 
from  her  warm  face  ? He  squeezed  her  with  a violence 
that  put  more  heat  into  her  blood  than  he  took  out 
of  it. 

And  he  was  very  considerate,  too:  not  a word  of 
reproach  in  him,  though  he  knew  very  well  what  that 
bundle  in  the  back  of  the  bed  was. 

She  guessed  that  he  had  heard  the  news  and  stayed 
away  through  jealousy  of  his  sister,  and  by  and  by  she 
said,  with  a faint  smile,  “I  have  a present  for  you, 
laddie.”  In  the  great  world  without,  she  used  few 
Thrums  words  now;  you  would  have  known  she  was 
Scotch  by  her  accent  only,  but  when  she  and  Tommy 
were  together  in  that  room,  with  the  door  shut,  she 


BUT  THE  OTHER  GETS  IN 


19 


always  spoke  as  if  her  window  still  looked  out  on  the 
bonny  Marywellbrae.  It  is  not  really  bonny,  it  is  gey 
an’  mean  an’  bleak,  and  you  must  not  come  to  see  it. 
It  is  just  a steep  wind-swept  street,  old  and  wrinkled, 
like  your  mother’s  face. 

She  had  a present  for  him,  she  said,  and  Tommy 
replied,  “I  knows,”  with  averted  face. 

“Such  a bonny  thing.” 

“Bonny  enough,”  he  said  bitterly. 

“Look  at  her,  laddie.” 

But  he  shrank  from  the  ordeal,  crying,  “No,  no, 
keep  her  covered  up ! ” 

The  little  traitor  seemed  to  be  asleep,  and  so  he 
ventured  to  say,  eagerly,  “It  wouldn’t  not  take  long  to 
carry  all  our  things  to  another  house,  would  it  ? Me 
and  Shovel  could  near  do  it  ourselves.” 

“And  that’s  God’s  truth,”  the  woman  said,  with  a 
look  round  the  room.  “But  what  for  should  we  do 
that?” 

“ Do  you  no  see,  mother  ? ” he  whispered  excitedly. 
“Then  you  and  me  could  slip  away,  and  — and  leave 
her  — in  the  press.” 

The  feeble  smile  with  which  his  mother  received  this 
he  interpreted  thus,  “Wherever  we  go’d  to  she  would 
be  there  before  us.” 

“ The  little  besom ! ” he  cried  helplessly. 

His  mother  saw  that  mischievous  boys  had  been 
mounting  him  on  his  horse,  which  needed  only  one  slap 


20 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


to  make  it  go  a mile ; but  she  was  a spiritless  woman, 
and  replied  indifferently,  “You  ’re  a funny  litlin.” 
Presently  a dry  sob  broke  from  her,  and  thinking  the 
child  was  the  cause,  soft-hearted  Tommy  said,  “It 
can’t  not  be  helped,  mother;  don’t  cry,  mother,  I’m 
fond  on  yer  yet,  mother;  I — I took  her  away.  I found 
another  woman  — but  she  would  come.” 

“She’s  God’s  gift,  man,”  his  mother  said,  but  she 
added,  in  a different  tone,  “Ay,  but  he  hasna  sent  her 
keep.” 

“ God’s  gift!  ” Tommy  shuddered,  but  he  said  sourly, 
“I  wish  he  would  take  her  back.  Do  you  wish  that, 
too,  mother  ? ” 

The  weary  woman  almost  said  she  did,  but  her  arms 
— they  gripped  the  baby  as  if  frightened  that  he  had 
sent  for  it.  Jealous  Tommy,  suddenly  deprived  of  his 
mother’s  hand,  cried,  “It’s  true  what  Shovel  says,  you 
don’t  not  love  me  never  again;  you  jest  loves  that  little 
limmer!  ” 

“Na,  na,”  the  mother  answered,  passionate  at  last, 
“she  can  never  be  to  me  what  you  hae  been,  my  laddie, 
for  you  came  to  me  when  my  hame  was  in  hell,  and  we 
tholed  it  thegither,  you  and  me.” 

This  bewildered  though  it  comforted  him.  He 
thought  his  mother  might  be  speaking  about  the  room 
in  which  they  had  lived  until  six  months  ago,  when  his 
father  was  put  into  the  black  box,  but  when  he  asked 
her  if  this  were  so,  she  told  him  to  sleep,  for  she  was 


BUT  THE  OTHER  GETS  TN 


21 


dog-tired.  She  always  evaded  him  in  this  way  when 
he  questioned  her  about  his  past,  but  at  times  his  mind 
would  wander  backwards  unbidden  to  those  distant 
days,  and  then  he  saw  flitting  dimly  through  them  the 
elusive  form  of  a child.  He  knew  it  was  himself,  and 
for  moments  he  could  see  it  clearly , but  when  he  moved 
a step  nearer  it  was  not  there.  So  does  the  child  we 
once  were  play  hide  and  seek  with  us  among  the  mists 
of  infancy,  until  one  day  he  trips  and  falls  into  the 
daylight.  Then  we  seize  him,  and  with  that  touch  we 
two  are  one.  It  is  the  birth  of  self-consciousness. 

Hitherto  he  had  slept  at  the  back  of  his  mother’s 
bed,  but  to-night  she  could  not  have  him  there,  the 
place  being  occupied,  and  rather  sulkily  he  consented 
to  lie  crosswise  at  her  feet,  undressing  by  the  feeble 
fire  and  taking  care,  as  he  got  into  bed,  not  to  look  at 
the  usurper.  His  mother  watched  him  furtively,  and 
was  relieved  to  read  in  his  face  that  he  had  no  recollec- 
tion of  ever  having  slept  at  the  foot  of  a bed  before. 
But  soon  after  he  fell  asleep  he  awoke,  and  was  afraid 
to  move  lest  his  father  should  kick  him.  He  opened 
his  eyes  stealthily,  and  this  was  neither  the  room  nor 
the  bed  he  had  expected  to  see. 

The  floor  was  bare  save  for  a sheepskin  beside  the 
bed.  Tommy  always  stood  on  the  sheepskin  while  he 
was  dressing  because  it  was  warm  to  the  feet,  though 
risky,  as  your  toes  sometimes  caught  in  knots  in  it. 
There  was  a deal  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  with 


22 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


some  dirty  crockery  on  it  and  a kettle  that  would  leave 
a mark,  but  they  had  been  left  there  by  Shovel’s  old 
girl,  for  Mrs.  Sandys  usually  kept  her  house  clean. 
The  chairs  were  of  the  commonest,  and  the  press  door 
would  not  remain  shut  unless  you  stuck  a knife  between 
its  halves ; but  there  was  a gay  blue  wardrobe,  spotted 
white  where  Tommy’s  mother  had  scraped  off  the  mud 
that  had  once  bespattered  it  during  a lengthy  sojourn 
at  the  door  of  a shop;  and  on  the  mantelpiece  was  a 
clock  in  a little  brown  and  yellow  house,  and  on  the 
clock  a Bible  that  had  been  in  Thrums.  But  what 
Tommy  was  proudest  of  was  his  mother’s  kist,  to  which 
the  chests  of  Londoners  are  not  to  be  compared,  though 
like  it  in  appearance.  On  the  inside  of  the  lid  of  this 
kist  was  pasted,  after  a Thrums  custom,  something  that 
his  mother  called  her  marriage  lines,  which  she  forced 
ShoveTs  mother  to  come  up  and  look  at  one  day,  when 
that  lady  had  made  an  innuendo  Tommy  did  not  under- 
stand, and  Shovel’s  mother  had  looked,  and  though  she 
could  not  read,  was  convinced,  knowing  them  by  the 
shape. 

Tommy  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  looking  at  this 
room,  which  was  his  home  now,  and  trying  to  think  of 
the  other  one,  and  by  and  by  the  fire  helped  him  by 
falling  to  ashes,  when  darkness  came  in,  and  packing 
the  furniture  in  grotesque  cloths,  removed  it  piece  by 
piece,  all  but  the  clock.  Then  the  room  took  a new 
shape.  The  fireplace  was  over  there  instead  of  here; 


BUT  THE  OTHER  GETS  IN 


23 


the  torn  yellow  blind  gave  way  to  one  made  of  spars  of 
green  wood,  that  were  bunched  up  at  one  side,  like  a 
lady  out  for  a walk.  On  a round  table  there  was  a 
beautiful  blue  cloth,  with  very  few  gravy  marks,  and 
here  a man  ate  beef  when  a woman  and  a boy  ate  bread, 
and  near  the  fire  was  the  man’s  big  soft  chair,  out  of 
which  you  could  pull  hairs,  just  as  if  it  were  Shovel’s 
sister. 

Of  this  man  who  was  his  father  he  could  get  no  hold. 
He  could  feel  his  presence,  but  never  see  him.  Yet  he 
had  a face.  It  sometimes  pressed  Tommy’s  face  against 
it  in  order  to  hurt  him,  which  it  could  do,  being  all 
short  needles  at  the  chin. 

Once  in  those  days  Tommy  and  his  mother  ran  away 
and  hid  from  some  one.  He  did  not  know  from  whom 
nor  for  how  long,  though  it  was  but  for  a week,  and  it 
left  only  two  impressions  on  his  mind,  the  one  that  he 
often  asked,  “ Is  this  starving  now,  mother  ? ” the  other 
that  before  turning  a corner  she  always  peered  round  it 
fearfully.  Then  they  went  back  again  to  the  man  and 
he  laughed  when  he  saw  them,  but  did  not  take  his  feet 
off  the  mantelpiece.  There  came  a time  when  the  man 
was  always  in  bed,  but  still  Tommy  could  not  see  his 
face.  What  he  did  see  was  the  man’s  clothes  lying  on 
the  large  chair  just  as  he  had  placed  them  there  when 
he  undressed  for  the  last  time.  The  black  coat  and 
worsted  waistcoat  which  he  could  take  off  together  were 
on  the  seat,  and  the  light  trousers  hung  over  the  side, 


24 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


the  legs  on  the  hearthrug,  with  the  red  socks  still  stick* 
ing  in  them : a man  without  a body. 

But  the  boy  had  one  vivid  recollection,  of  how  his 
mother  received  the  news  of  his  father’s  death.  An 
old  man  with  a white  beard  and  gentle  ways,  who  often 
came  to  give  the  invalid  physic,  was  standing  at  the 
bedside,  and  Tommy  and  his  mother  were  sitting  on 
the  fender.  The  old  man  came  to  her  and  said,  “ It  is 
ali  over,”  and  put  her  softly  into  the  big  chair.  She 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  he  must  have 
thought  she  was  crying,  for  he  tried  to  comfort  her. 
But  as  soon  as  he  was  gone  she  rose,  with  such  a queer 
face,  and  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  bed,  and  looked  intently 
at  her  husband,  and  then  she  clapped  her  hands  joyously 
three  times. 

At  last  Tommy  fell  asleep  with  his  mouth  open, 
which  is  the  most  important  thing  that  has  been  told  of 
him  as  yet,  and  while  he  slept  day  came  and  restored 
the  furniture  that  night  had  stolen.  But  when  the  boy 
woke  he  did  not  even  notice  the  change;  his  brain 
traversed  the  hours  it  had  lost  since  he  lay  down  as 
quickly  as  you  may  put  on  a stopped  clock,  and  with 
his  first  tick  he  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  the 
deceiver  in  the  back  of  the  bed.  He  raised  his  head, 
but  could  only  see  that  she  had  crawled  under  the 
coverlet  to  escape  his  wrath.  His  mother  was  asleep. 
Tommy  sat  up  and  peeped  over  the  edge  of  the  bed, 
then  he  let  his  eyes  wander  round  the  room;  he  was 


BUT  Thk;  OTHER  GETS  IN 


25 


looking  for  the  girl’s  clothes,  but  they  were  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  It  is  distressing  to  have  to  tell  that  what  was 
in  his  mind  was  merely  the  recovery  of  his  penny. 
Perhaps  as  they  were  Sunday  clothes  she  had  hung 
them  up  in  the  wardrobe  ? He  slipped  on  to  the  floor 
and  crossed  fco  the  wardrobe,  but  not  even  the  muff 
could  he  find.  Had  she  been  tired,  and  gone  to  bed  in 
them  ? Very  softly  he  crawled  over  his  mother,  and 
pulling  the  coverlet  off  the  child’s  face,  got  the  great 
shock  of  his  childhood. 

It  was  another  one! 


CHAPTER  III 


SHOWING  HOW  TOMMY  WAS  SUDDENLY  TRANSFORMED 
INTO  A YPUNG  GENTLEMAN 

It  would  have  fared  ill  with  Mrs.  Sandys  now,  had 
her  standoffishness  to  her  neighbors  been  repaid  in  the 
same  coin,  but  they  were  full  of  sympathy,  especially 
Shovel’s  old  girl,  from  whom  she  had  often  drawn  back 
offensively  on  the  stair,  but  who  nevertheless  waddled  7 
up  several  times  a day  with  savory  messes,  explaining, 
when  Mrs.  Sandys  sniffed,  that  it  was  not  the  tapiocar 
but  merely  the  cup  that  smelt  of  gin.  When  Tommy 
returned  the  cups  she  noticed  not  only  that  they  were 
suspiciously  clean,  but  that  minute  particles  of  the 
mess  were  adhering  to  his  nose  and  chin  (perched  there 
like  shipwrecked  mariners  on  a rock,  just  out  of  reach 
of  the  devouring  element),  and  after  this  discovery  she 
brought  two  cupfuls  at  a time.  She  was  an  Irish- 
woman who  could  have  led  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
in  walking  she  seldom  raised  her  carpet  shoes  from  the 
ground,  perhaps  because  of  her  weight,  for  she  had  an 
expansive  figure  that  bulged  in  all  directions,  and  there 
were  always  bits  of  her  here  and  there  that  she  had 
forgotten  to  lace.  Round  the  corner  was  a delightful 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


27 


eating-house,  through  whose  window  you  were  allowed 
fco  gaze  at  the  great  sweating  dumplings,  and  Tommy 
thought  Shovel’s  mother  was  rather  like  a dumpling 
that  had  not  been  a complete  success.  If  he  ever  knew 
her  name  he  forgot  it.  Shovel,  who  probably  had 
another  name  also,  called  her  his  old  girl  or  his  old 
woman  or  his  old  lady,  and  it  was  a sight  to  see  her 
chasing  him  across  the  street  when  she  was  in  liquor, 
and  boastful  was  Shovel  of  the  way  she  could  lay  on, 
and  he  was  partial  to  her  too,  and  once  when  she  was 
giving  it  to  him  pretty  strong  with  the  tongs,  his  father 
(who*  followed  many  professions,  among  them  that 
of  finding  lost  dogs),  had  struck  her  and  told  her  to 
drop  it,  and  then  Shovel  sauced  his  father  for  interfer- 
ing, saying  she  should  lick  him  as  long  as  she  blooming 
well  liked,  which  made  his  father  go  for  him  with  a 
dog-collar;  and  that  was  how  Shovel  lost  his  eye. 

For  reasons  less  unselfish  than  his  old  girl’s  Shovel 
also  was  willing  to  make  up  to  Tommy  at  this  humili- 
ating time.  It  might  be  said  of  these  two  boys  that 
Shovel  knew  everything  but  Tommy  knew  other  things, 
and  as  the  other  things  are  best  worth  hearing  of 
Shovel  liked  to  listen  to  them,  even  when  they  were 
about  Thrums,  as  they  usually  were.  The  very  first 
time  Tommy  told  him  of  the  wondrous  spot,  Shovel  had 
drawn  a great  breath,  and  said,  thoughtfully: 

“ I allers  knowed  as  there  were  sich  a beauty  place, 
but  I didn’t  jest  know  its  name.” 


28 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“How  could  yer  know?”  Tommy  asked  jealously, 

“I  ain’t  sure,”  said  Shovel,  “p’raps  I dreamed  on 
it.” 

“That’s  it,”  Tommy  cried.  “I  tell  yer,  everybody 
dreams  on  it!”  and  Tommy  was  right;  everybody 
dreams  of  it,  though  not  all  call  it  Thrums. 

On  the  whole,  then,  the  coming  of  the  kid,  who 
turned  out  to  be  called  Elspeth,  did  not  ostracize 
Tommy,  but  he  wished  that  he  had  let  the  other  girl  in, 
for  he  never  doubted  that  her  admittance  would  have 
kept  this  one  out.  He  told  neither  his  mother  nor  his 
friend  of  the  other  girl,  fearing  that  his  mother  would 
be  angry  with  him  when  she  learned  what  she  had 
missed,  and  that  Shovel  would  crow  over  his  blunder- 
ing, but  occasionally  he  took  a side  glance  at  the  victo- 
rious infant,  and  a poorer  affair,  he  thought,  he  had 
never  set  eyes  on.  Sometimes  it  was  she  who  looked 
at  him,  and  then  her  chuckle  of  triumph  was  hard  to 
bear.  As  long  as  his  mother  was  there,  however,  he 
endured  in  silence,  but  the  first  day  she  went  out  in  a 
vain  search  for  work  (it  is  about  as  difficult  to  get 
washing  as  to  get  into  the  Cabinet),  he  gave  the  infant 
a piece  of  his  mind,  poking  up  her  head  with  a stick  so 
that  she  was  bound  to  listen. 

“ You  thinks  as  it  was  clever  on  you,  does  yer  ? Oh, 
if  I had  been  on  the  stair  ! 

“You  needn’t  not  try  to  get  round  me.  I likes  the 
other  one  five  times  better ; yes,  three  times  better. 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


29 


u Thievey,  thievey,  thief,  that ’s  her  place  you  is  lying 
in.  What  ? 

“ If  you  puts  out  your  tongue  at  me  again  — ! What 
do  yer  say  ? 

“ She  was  twice  bigger  than  you.  You  ain’t  got  no 
hair,  nor  yet  no  teeth.  You  ’re  the  littlest  I ever  seed. 
Eh  ? Don’t  not  speak  then,  sulks  ! ” 

Prudence  had  kept  him  away  from  the  other  girl,  but 
he  was  feeling  a great  want : someone  to  applaud  him. 
When  we  grow  older  we  call  it  sympathy.  How  Eeddy 
(as  he  called  her  because  she  had  beautiful  red-brown 
hair)  had  appreciated  him  ! She  had  a way  he  liked  of 
opening  her  eyes  very  wide  when  she  looked  at  him.  Oh, 
what  a difference  from  that  thing  in  the  back  of  the  bed! 

Not  the  mere  selfish  desire  to  see  her  again,  how- 
ever, would  take  him  in  quest  of  Reddy.  He  was  one 
of  those  superior  characters,  was  Tommy,  who  got  his 
pleasure  in  giving  it,  and  therefore  gave  it.  Now,  Reddy 
was  a worthy  girl.  In  suspecting  her  of  overreaching 
him  he  had  maligned  her : she  had  taken  what  he  offered, 
and  been  thankful.  It  was  fitting  that  he  should  give 
her  a treat : let  her  see  him  again. 

His  mother  was  at  last  re-engaged  by  her  old  employers, 
her  supplanter  having  proved  unsatisfactory,  and  as  the 
work  lay  in  a distant  street,  she  usually  took  the  kid 
with  her,  thus  leaving  no  one  to  spy  on  Tommy’s  move- 
ments. Reddy’s  reward  for  not  playing  him  false,  how- 
ever, did  not  reach  her  as  soon  as  doubtless  she  would 


30 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


have  liked,  because  the  first  two  or  three  times  he  saw 
her  she  was  walking  with  the  lady  of  his  choice,  and  of 
course  he  was  not  such  a fool  as  to  show  himself.  But 
he  walked  behind  them  and  noted  with  satisfaction  that 
the  lady  seemed  to  be  reconciled  to  her  lot  and  inclined 
to  let  bygones  be  bygones ; when  at  length  Beddy  and 
her  patron  met,  Tommy  thought  this  a good  sign  too, 
that  Ma-ma  (as  she  would  call  the  lady)  had  told  her 
not  to  go  farther  away  than  the  lamp-post,  lest  she  should 
get  lost  again.  So  evidently  she  had  got  lost  once 
already,  and  the  lady  had  been  sorry.  He  asked  Reddy 
many  shrewd  questions  about  how  Ma-ma  treated  her, 
and  if  she  got  the  top  of  the  Sunday  egg  and  had  the 
licking  of  the  pan  and  wore  flannel  underneath  and  slept 
at  the  back  ; and  the  more  he  inquired,  the  more  clearly 
he  saw  that  he  had  got  her  one  of  the  right  kind. 

Tommy  arranged  with  her  that  she  should  always  be 
on  the  outlook  for  him  at  the  window,  and  he  would 
come  sometimes,  and  after  that  they  met  frequently,  and 
she  proved  a credit  to  him,  gurgling  with  mirth  at  his 
tales  of  Thrums,  and  pinching  him  when  he  had  finished, 
to  make  sure  that  he  was  really  made  just  like  common 
human  beings.  He  was  a thin,  pale  boy,  while  she 
looked  like  a baby  rose  full  blown  in  a night  because 
her  time  was  short ; and  his  movements  were  sluggish, 
but  if  she  was  not  walking  she  must  be  dancing,  and 
sometimes  when  there  were  few  people  in  the  street,  the 
little  armful  of  delight  that  she  was  jumped  up  and 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


31 


down  like  a ball,  while  Tommy  kept  the  time,  singing 
“ Thrummy,  Thrummy,  Thrum  Thrum  Thrummy.” 
They  must  have  seemed  a quaint  pair  to  the  lady  as 
she  sat  at  her  window  watching  them  and  beckoning 
to  Tommy  to  come  in. 

One  day  he  went  in,  but  only  because  she  had  come 
up  behind  and  taken  his  hand  before  he  could  run. 
Then  did  Tommy  quake,  for  he  knew  from  Eeddy  how 
the  day  after  the  mother-making  episode,  Ma-ma  and  she 
had  sought  in  vain  for  his  door,  and  he  saw  that  the 
object  had  been  to  call  down  curses  on  his  head.  So 
that  head  was  hanging  limply  now. 

You  think  that  Tommy  is  to  be  worsted  at  last,  but 
don't  be  too  sure ; you  just  wait  and  see.  Ma-ma  and 
Eeddy  (who  was  clucking  rather  heartlessly)  first  took 
him  into  a room  prettier  even  than  the  one  he  had  lived 
in  long  ago  (but  there  was  no  bed  in  it),  and  then,  because 
someone  they  were  in  search  of  was  not  there,  into  another 
room  without  a bed  (where  on  earth  did  they  sleep  ?) 
whose  walls  were  lined  with  books.  Never  having  seer 
rows  of  books  before  except  on  sale  in  the  streets,  Tommy 
at  once  looked  about  him  for  the  barrow.  The  table  was 
strewn  with  sheets  of  paper  of  the  size  that  they  roll  a 
quarter  of  butter  in,  and  it  was  an  amazing  thick  table, 
a solid  square  of  wood,  save  for  a narrow  lane  down  the 
centre  for  the  man  to  put  his  legs  in  — if  he  had  legs, 
which  unfortunately  there  was  reason  to  doubt.  He  was 
a formidable  man,  whose  beard  licked  the  table  while  he 


32 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


wrote,  and  lie  wore  something  like  a brown  blanket,  with 
a rope  tied  round  it  at  the  middle.  Even  more  uncanny 
than  himself  were  three  busts  on  a shelf,  which  Tommy 
took  to  be  deaders,  and  he  feared  the  blanket  might  blow 
open  and  show  that  the  man  also  ended  at  the  waist.  But 
he  did  not,  for  presently  he  turned  round  to  see  who  had 
come  in  (the  seat  of  his  chair  turning  with  him  in  the 
most  startling  way)  and  then  Tommy  was  relieved  to 
notice  two  big  feet  far  away  at  the  end  of  him. 

“This  is  the  boy,  dear,”  the  lady  said.  “I  had  to 
bring  him  in  by  force.” 

Tommy  raised  his  arm  instinctively  to  protect  his  face, 
this  being  the  kind  of  man  who  could  hit  hard.  But 
presently  he  was  confused,  and  also,  alas,  leering  a 
little.  You  may  remember  that  Eeddy  had  told  him 
she  must  not  go  beyond  the  lamp-post,  lest  she  should  be 
lost  again.  She  had  given  him  no  details  of  the  adven- 
ture, but  he  learned  now  from  Ma-ma  and  Papa  (the 
man’s  name  was  Papa)  that  she  had  strayed  when  Ma-ma 
was  in  a shop  and  that  some  good  kind  boy  had  found 
her  and  brought  her  home  ; and  what  do  you  say  to  this, 
they  thought  Tommy  was  that  boy ! In  his  amazement 
he  very  nearly  blurted  out  that  he  was  the  other  boy, 
but  just  then  the  lady  asked  Papa  if  he  had  a shilling, 
and  this  abruptly  closed  Tommy’s  mouth.  Ever  after- 
wards he  remembered  Papa  as  the  man  that  was  not 
sure  whether  he  had  a shilling  until  he  felt  his  pockets 
— a new  kind  of  mortal  to  Tommy,  who  grabbed  the 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


83 


shilling  when  it  was  offered  to  him,  and  then  looked  at 
Reddy  imploringly,  he  was  so  afraid  she  would  tell. 
But  she  behaved  splendidly,  and  never  even  shook  her 
head  at  him.  After  this,  as  hardly  need  be  told,  his  one 
desire  was  to  get  out  of  the  house  with  his  shilling 
before  they  discovered  their  mistake,  and  it  was  well 
that  they  were  unsuspicious  people,  for  he  was  making 
strange  hissing  sounds  in  his  throat,  the  result  of  trying 
hard  to  keep  his  sniggers  under  control. 

There  were  many  ways  in  which  Tommy  could  have 
disposed  of  his  shilling.  He  might  have  been  a good 
boy  and  returned  it  next  day  to  Papa.  He  might  have 
given  Reddy  half  of  it  for  not  telling.  It  could  have 
carried  him  over  the  winter.  He  might  have  stalked 
with  it  into  the  shop  where  the  greasy  puddings  were 
and  come  rolling  out  hours  afterwards.  Some  of  these 
schemes  did  cross  his  little  mind,  but  he  decided  to 
spend  the  whole  shilling  on  a present  to  his  mother, 
and  it  was  to  be  something  useful.  He  devoted  much 
thought  to  what  she  was  most  in  need  of,  and  at  last  he 
bought  her  a colored  picture  of  Lord  Byron  swimming 
the  Hellespont. 

He  told  her  that  he  got  his  shilling  from  two  toffs  for 
playing  with  a little  girl,  and  the  explanation  satisfied 
her ; but  she  could  have  cried  at  the  waste  of  the  money, 
w]^ch  would  have  been  such  a God-send  to  her.  He 
cried  altogether,  however,  at  sight  of  her  face,  having 
expected  it  to  look  so  pleased,  and  then  she  told  him, 

3 


34 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


with  caresses,  that  the  picture  was  the  one  thing  she  had 
been  longing  for  ever  since  she  came  to  London.  How 
had  he  known  this,  she  asked,  and  he  clapped  his  hands 
gleefully,  and  said  he  just  knowed  when  he  saw  it  in 
the  shop  window. 

“ It  was  noble  of  you,”  she  said,  “ to  spend  all  your 
siller  on  me.” 

“Wasn’t  it,  mother?”  he  crowed.  “I’m  thinking 
there  ain’t  many  as  noble  as  I is  ! ” 

He  did  not  say  why  he  had  been  so  good  to  her,  but 
it  was  because  she  had  written  no  letters  to  Thrums 
since  the  intrusion  of  Elspeth;  a strange  reason  for  a 
boy  whose  greatest  glory  at  one  time  had  been  to  sit 
on  the  fender  and  exultingly  watch  his  mother  write 
down  words  that  would  be  read  aloud  in  the  wonderful 
place.  She  was  a long  time  in  writing  a letter,  but  that 
only  made  the  whole  evening  romantic,  and  he  found 
an  arduous  employment  in  keeping  his  tongue  wet  in 
preparation  for  the  licking  of  the  stamp. 

But  she  could  not  write  to  the  Thrums  folk  now 
without  telling  them  of  Elspeth,  who  was  at  present 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  shameless  in  the  hollow  of 
the  bed,  and  so  for  his  sake,  Tommy  thought,  she 
meant  to  write  no  more.  Eor  his  sake,  mark  you,  not 
for  her  own.  She  had  often  told  him  that  some  day 
he  should  go  to  Thrums,  but  not  with  her ; she  would 
be  far  away  from  him  then  in  a dark  place  she  was 
awid  to  be  lying  in.  Thus  it  seemed  to  Tommy  that 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


35 


she  denied  herself  the  pleasure  of  writing  to  Thrums 
lest  the  sorry  news  of  Elspeth’s  advent  should  spoil  his 
reception  when  he  went  north. 

So  grateful  Tommy  gave  her  the  picture,  hoping  that 
it  would  fill  the  void.  But  it  did  not.  She  put  it  on 
the  mantelpiece  so  that  she  might  just  sit  and  look  at 
it,  she  said,  and  he  grinned  at  it  from  every  part  of  the 
room,  but  when  he  returned  to  her,  he  saw  that  she  was 
neither  looking  at  it  nor  thinking  of  it.  She  was  look- 
ing straight  before  her,  and  sometimes  her  lips  twitched, 
and  then  she  drew  them  into  her  mouth  to  keep  them 
still.  It  is  a kind  of  dry  weeping  that  sometimes  comes 
to  miserable  ones  when  their  minds  stray  into  the  happy 
past,  and  Tommy  sat  and  watched  her  silently  for  a 
long  time,  never  doubting  that  the  cause  of  all  her  woe 
was  that  she  could  not  write  to  Thrums. 

He  had  seldom  seen  tears  on  his  mother’s  face,  but 
he  saw  one  now.  They  had  been  reluctant  to  come  for 
many  a day,  and  this  one  formed  itself  beneath  her  eye 
and  sat  there  like  a blob  of  blood. 

His  own  began  to  come  more  freely.  But  she  need  n’t 
not  expect  him  to  tell  her  to  write  nor  to  say  that  he 
did  n’t  care  what  Thrums  thought  of  him  so  long  as  she 
was  happy.  * 

The  tear  rolled  down  his  mother’s  thin  cheek  and  fell 
on  the  grey  shawl  that  had  come  from  Thrums. 

She  did  not  hear  her  boy  as  he  dragged  a chair  to 
the  press  and  standing  on  it  got  something  down  from 


36 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


the  top  shelf.  She  had  forgotten  him,  and  she  started 
when  presently  the  pen  was  slipped  into  her  hand  and 
Tommy  said,  “You  can  do  it,  mother,  I wants  yer  to 
do  it,  mother,  I won’t  not  greet,  mother ! ” 

When  she  saw  what  he  wanted  her  to  do  she  patted 
his  face  approvingly,  but  without  realizing  the  extent 
of  his  sacrifice.  She  knew  that  he  had  some  maggot  in 
his  head  that  made  him  regard  Elspeth  as  a sore  on  the 
family  honor,  but  ascribing  his  views  to  jealousy  she 
had  never  tried  seriously  to  change  them.  Her  main 
reason  for  sending  no  news  to  Thrums  of  late  had  been 
but  the  cost  of  the  stamp,  though  she  was  also  a little 
conscience-stricken  at  the  kind  of  letters  she  wrote,  and 
the  sight  of  the  materials  lying  ready  for  her  proved 
sufficient  to  draw  her  to  the  table. 

“Is  it  to  your  grandmother  you  is  writting  the 
letter  ? ” Tommy  asked,  for  her  grandmother  had 
brought  Mrs.  Sandys  up  and  was  her  only  surviving 
relative.  This  was  all  Tommy  knew  of  his  mother’s 
life  in  Thrums,  though  she  had  told  him  much  about 
other  Thrums  folk,  and  not  till  long  afterwards  did  he 
see  that  there  must  be  something  queer  about  herself, 
which  she  was  hiding  from  him. 

This  letter  was  not  for  her  granny,  however,  and 
Tommy  asked  next,  “ Is  it  to  Aaron  Latta  ? ” which  so 
startled  her  that  she  dropped  the  pen. 

“Whaur  heard  you  that  name?”  she  said  sharply. 
“I  never  spoke  it  to  you.” 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


37 


“I  *ve  heard  you  saying  it  when  you  was  sleeping, 
mother.” 

“ Did  I say  onything  but  the  name  ? Quick,  tell  me.” 

“You  said,  ‘Oh,  Aaron  Latta,  oh,  Aaron,  little  did  we 
think,  Aaron/  and  things  like  that.  Are  you  angry  with 
me,  mother  ? ” 

“No,”  she  said,  relieved,  but  it  was  some  time  before 
the  desire  to  write  came  back  to  her.  Then  she  told 
him  “ The  letter  is  to  a woman  that  was  gey  cruel  to  me,” 
adding,  with  a complacent  pursing  of  her  lips,  the  curi- 
ous remark,  “ That ’s  the  kind  I like  to  write  to  best.” 

The  pen  went  scrape,  scrape,  but  Tommy  did  not 
weary,  though  he  often  sighed,  because  his  mother 
would  never  read  aloud  to  him  what  she  wrote.  The 
Thrums  people  never  answered  her  letters,  for  the 
reason,  she  said,  that  those  she  wrote  to  could  not 
write,  which  seemed  to  simple  Tommy  to  be  a suffi- 
cient explanation.  So  he  had  never  heard  the  inside  of 
a letter  talking,  though  a postman  lived  in  the  house, 
and  even  Shovel’s  old  girl  got  letters;  once  when  her 
uncle  died  she  got  a telegram,  which  Shovel  proudly 
wheeled  up  and  down  the  street  in  a barrow,  other 
blokes  keeping  guard  at  the  side.  To  give  a letter  to 
a woman  who  had  been  cruel  to  you  struck  Tommy  as 
the  height  of  nobility. 

“ She  ’ll  be  uplifted  when  she  gets  it ! ” he  cried. 

“She’ll  be  mad  when  she  gets  it,”  answered  his 
mother,  without  looking  up. 


88 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


This  was  the  letter : — 

“ My  dear  Esther,  — I send  you  these  few  scrapes  to  let 
you  see  I have  not  forgot  you,  though  my  way  is  now  grand  by 
yours.  A spleet  new  black  silk,  Esther,  being  the  second  in  a 
twelvemonth,  as  I’m  a living  woman.  The  other  is  no  none 
tashed  yet,  but  my  gudeman  fair  insisted  on  buying  a new  one, 
for  says  he  ‘ Rich  folk  like  us  can  afford  to  be  mislaird,  and 
nothing ’s  ower  braw  for  my  bonny  Jean.’  Tell  Aaron  Latta 
that.  When  I’m  sailing  in  my  silks,  Esther,  I sometimes  pic- 
ture you  turning  your  wincey  again,  for  I ’se  uphaud  that  *s  all 
the  new  frock  you’ve  ha’en  the  year.  I dinna  want  to  give  you 
a scunner  of  your  man,  Esther,  more  by  token  they  said  if  your 
mither  had  not  took  him  in  hand  you  would  never  have  kent 
the  color  of  his  nightcap,  but  when  you  are  wraxing  ower  your 
kail-pot  in  a plot  of  heat,  just  picture  me  ringing  the  bell  for 
my  servant,  and  saying,  with  a wave  of  my  hand,  ‘Servant, 
lay  the  dinner.’  And  ony  bonny  afternoon  when  your  man  is 
cleaning  out  stables  and  you  ’re  at  the  tub  in  a short  gown, 
picture  my  man  taking  me  and  the  children  out  a ride  in  a 
carriage,  and  I sair  doubt  your  bairns  was  never  in  nothing 
more  genteel  than  a coal  cart.  For  bairns  is  yours,  Esther,  and 
children  is  mine,  and  that  Ss  a burn  without  a brig  till ’t. 

“ Deary  me,  Esther,  what  with  one  thing  and  another,  namely 
buying  a sofa,  thirty  shillings  as  I’m  a sinner,  I have  forgot  to 
tell  you  about  my  second,  and  it’s  a girl  this  time,  my  man  say- 
ing he  would  like  a change.  We  have  christened  her  Elspeth 
after  my  grandmamma,  and  if  my  auld  granny ’s  aye  living,  you 
can  tell  her  that ’s  her.  My  man  is  terrible  windy  of  his  two 
beautiful  children,  but  he  says  he  would  have  been  the  happiest 
gentleman  in  London  though  he  had  just  had  me,  and  really 
his  fondness  for  me,  it  cows,  Esther,  sitting  aside  me  on  the 
bed,  two  pounds  without  the  blankets,  about  the  time  Elspeth 


TOMMY  A YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 


39 


was  bom,  and  feeding  me  with  the  fat  of  the  land,  namely, 
tapiocas  and  sherry  wine.  Tell  Aaron  Latta  that, 

“ I pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  Esther,  for  having 
to  bide  in  Thrums,  but  you  have  never  seen  no  better,  your  man 
having  neither  the  siller  nor  the  desire  to  take  you  jaunts,  and 
I ’m  thinking  that  is  just  as  weli,  for  if  you  saw  how  the  like 
of  me  lives  it  might  disgust  you  with  your  own  bit  house.  I 
often  laugh,  Esther,  to  think  that  1 was  once  like  you,  and 
looked  upon  Thrums  as  a bonny  place.  How  is  the  old  hole  ? 
My  son  makes  grand  sport  of  the  onfortunate  bairns  as  has  to 
bide  in  Thrums,  and  I see  him  doing  it  the  now  to  his  favorite 
companion,  which  is  a young  gentleman  of  ladylike  manners, 
as  bides  in  our  terrace.  So  no  more  at  present,  for  my  man  is 
sitting  ganting  for  my  society,  and  I daresay  yours  is  crying  to 
you  to  darn  his  old  socks.  Mind  and  tell  Aaron  Latta.” 

This  letter  was  posted  next  day  by  Tommy,  with  the 
assistance  of  Shovel,  who  seems  to  have  been  the  young 
gentleman  of  ladylike  manners  referred  to  in  the  text. 


CHAPTER  IV 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 

Tommy  never  saw  Reddy  again  owing  to  a fright  he 
got  about  this  time,  for  which  she  was  really  to  blame, 
though  a woman  who  lived  in  his  house  was  the 
instrument. 

It  is,  perhaps,  idle  to  attempt  a summary  of  those 
who  lived  in  that  house,  as  one  at  least  will  be  off, 
and  another  in  his  place,  while  we  are  giving  them  a 
line  apiece.  They  were  usually  this  kind  who  lived 
through  the  wall  from  Mrs.  Sandys,  but  beneath  her 
were  the  two  rooms  of  Hankey,  the  postman,  and  his 
lodger,  the  dreariest  of  middle-aged  clerks  except  when, 
telling  wistfully  of  his  ambition,  which  was  to  get  out 
of  the  tea  department  into  the  coffee  department,  where 
there  is  an  easier  way  of  counting  up  the  figures. 
Shovel  and  family  were  also  on  this  floor,  and  in  the 
rooms  under  them  was  a newly  married  couple.  When 
the  husband  was  away  at  his  work,  his  wife  would 
make  some  change  in  the  furniture,  taking  the  picture 
from  this  wall,  for  instance,  and  hanging  it  on  that 
wall,  or  wheeling  the  funny  chair  she  had  lain  in  before 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


41 


she  could  walk  without  a crutch,  to  the  other  side  of 
the  fireplace,  or  putting  a skirt  of  yellow  paper  round 
the  flower  pot,  and  when  he  returned  he  always  jumped 
back  in  wonder  and  exclaimed:  “What  an  immense 
improvement ! ” These  two  were  so  fond  of  one  another 
that  Tommy  asked  them  the  reason,  and  they  gave  it  by 
pointing  to  the  chair  with  the  wheels,  which  seemed  to 
him  to  be  no  reason  at  all.  What  was  this  young  hus- 
band’s Trade  Tommy  never  knew,  but  he  was  the  only 
prettily  dressed  man  in  the  house,  and  he  could  be 
heard  roaring  in  his  sleep,  “ And  the  next  article?’7 
The  meanest  looking  man  lived  next  door  to  him. 
Every  morning  this  man  put  on  a clean  white  shirt, 
which  sounds  like  a splendid  beginning,  bub  his  other 
clothes  were  of  the  seediest,  and  he  came  and  went 
shivering,  raising  his  shoulders  to  his  ears  and  spread- 
ing his  hands  over  his  chest  as  if  anxious  to  hide  his 
shirt  rather  than  to  display  it.  He  and  the  happy  hus- 
band were  nicknamed  Before  and  After,  they  were  so 
like  the  pictorial  advertisement  of  Man  before  and  after 
he  has  tried  Someone’s  lozenges.  But  it  is  rash  to 
judge  by  outsides ; Tommy  and  Shovel  one  day  tracked 
Before  to  his  place  of  business,  and,  it  proved  to  be  a 
palatial  eating-house,  long,  narrow,  padded  with  red 
cushions ; through  the  door  they  saw  the  once  despised, 
now  in  beautiful  black  clothes,  the  waistcoat  a mere 
nothing,  as  if  to  give  his  shirt  a chance  at  last,  a 
towel  over  his  arm,  and  to  and  fro  he  darted,  saying 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


42 

“ Yessirquitesosir  ” to  the  toffs  on  the  seats,  shouting 
“ Twovegonebeef  — onebeeronetartinahurry  ” to  some- 
one  invisible,  and  pocketing  twopences  all  day  long, 
just  like  a lord.  On  the  same  floor  as  Before  and  After 
lived  the  large  family  of  little  Pikes,  who  quarrelled  at 
night  for  the  middle  place  in  the  bed,  and  then  chips  of 
ceiling  fell  into  the  room  below,  tenant  Jim  Ricketts 
and  parents,  lodger  the  young  woman  we  have  been 
trying  all  these  doors  for.  Her  the  police  snapped  up  on 
a charge  that  made  Tommy  want  to  hide  himself  — 
child-desertion. 

Shovel  was  the  person  best  worth  listening  to  on  the 
subject  (observe  him,  the  centre  of  half  a dozen  boys), 
and  at  first  he  was  for  the  defence,  being  a great 
stickler  for  the  rights  of  mothers.  But  when  the  case 
against  the  girl  leaked  out,  she  need  not  look  to  him 
for  help.  The  police  had  found  the  child  in  a basket 
down  an  area,  and  being  knowing  ones  they  pinched  it 
to  make  it  cry,  and  then  they  pretended  to  go  away. 
Soon  the  mother,  who  was  watching  hard  by  to  see  if 
it  fell  into  kind  hands,  stole  to  her  baby  to  comfort  it, 
“and  just  as  she  were  a kissing  on  it  and  blubbering, 
the  perlice  copped  her.” 

“The  slut!”  said  disgusted  Shovel,  “what  did  she 
hang  about  for  ? ” and  in  answer  to  a trembling  ques- 
tion from  Tommy  he  replied,  decisively,  “ Six  months 
hard.” 

“Next  case”  was  probably  called  immediately,  but 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


43 


Tommy  vanished,  as  if  he  had  been  sentenced  and 
removed  to  the  cells. 

Never  again,  unless  he  wanted  six  months  hard,  must 
he  go  near  Reddy’s  home,  and  so  he  now  frequently 
accompanied  his  mother  to  the  place  where  she  worked 
The  little  room  had  a funny  fireplace  called  a stove,  on 
which  his  mother  made  tea  and  the  girls  roasted  chest- 
nuts, and  it  had  no  other  ordinary  furniture  except  a 
long  form.  But  the  walls  were  mysterious.  Three  of 
them  were  covered  with  long  white  cloths,  which  went 
to  the  side  when  you  tugged  them,  and  then  you  could 
see  on  rails  dozens  of  garments  that  looked  like  night- 
gowns. Beneath  the  form  were  scores  of  little  shoes, 
most  of  them  white  or  brown.  In  this  house  Tommy’s 
mother  spent  eight  hours  daily,  but  not  all  of  them  in 
this  room.  When  she  arrived  the  first  thing  she  did 
was  to  put  Elspeth  on  the  floor,  because  you  cannot  fall 
off  a floor;  then  she  went  upstairs  with  a bucket  and  a 
broom  to  a large  bare  room,  where  she  stayed  so  long 
that  Tommy  nearly  forgot  what  she  was  like. 

While  his  mother  was  upstairs  Tommy  would  give 
Elspeth  two  or  three  shoes  to  eat  to  keep  her  quiet,  and 
then  he  played  with  the  others,  pretending  to  be  able 
to  count  them,  arranging  them  in  designs,  shooting 
them,  swimming  among  them,  saying  “ bow-wow  ” at 
them  and  then  turning  sharply  to  see  who  had  said  it. 
Soon  Elspeth  dropped  her  shoes  and  gazed  in  admira- 
tion at  him,  but  more  often  than  not  she  laughed  in  the 


44 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


wrong  place,  and  then  he  said  ironically:  “Oh,  in 
course  I can’t  do  nothin’;  jest  let’s  see  you  doing  of  it, 
then,  cocky ! ” 

By  the  time  the  girls  began  to  arrive,  singly  or  in 
twos  and  threes,  his  mother  was  back  in  the  little  room, 
making  tea  for  herself  or  sewing  bits  of  them  that  had 
been  torn  as  they  stepped  out  of  a cab,  or  helping  them 
to  put  on  the  nightgowns,  or  pretending  to  listen 
pleasantly  to  their  chatter  and  hating  them  all  the 
time.  There  was  every  kind  of  them,  gorgeous  ones 
and  shabby  ones,  old  tired  ones  and  dashing  young 
ones,  but  whether  they  were  the  Honorable  Mrs.  Some- 
thing or  only  Jane  Anything,  they  all  came  to  that 
room  for  the  same  purpose : to  get  a little  gown  and  a 
pair  of  shoes.  Then  they  went  upstairs  and  danced  to 
a stout  little  lady,  called  the  Sylph,  who  bobbed  about 
like  a ball  at  the  end  of  a piece  of  elastic.  What 
Tommy  never  forgot  was  that  while  they  danced  the 
Sylph  kept  saying,  “One,  two,  three,  four;  one,  two, 
three,  four,”  which  they  did  not  seem  to  mind,  but 
when  she  said  “ One,  two,  three,  four,  picture ! ” they 
all  stopped  and  stood  motionless,  though  it  might  be 
with  one  foot  as  high  as  their  head  and  their  arms 
stretched  out  toward  the  floor,  as  if  they  had  suddenly 
seen  a halfpenny  there. 

In  the  waiting-room,  how  they  joked  and  pirouetted 
and  gossiped,  and  hugged  and  scorned  each  other,  and 
what  slang  they  spoke  and  how  pretty  they  often  looked 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


45 


next  moment,  and  how  they  denounced  the  one  that  had 
just  gone  out  as  a cat  with  whom  you  could  not  get  in  a 
word  edgeways,  and  oh,  how  prompt  they  were  to  give 
a slice  of  their  earnings  to  any  “ cat  ” who  was  hard  up ! 
But  still,  they  said,  she  had  talent,  but  no  genius. 
How  they  pitied  people  without  genius. 

Have  you  ever  tasted  an  encore  or  a reception  ? 
Tommy  never  had  his  teeth  in  one,  but  he  heard  much 
about  them  in  that  room,  and  concluded  that  they  were 
some  sort  of  cake.  It  was  not  the  girls  who  danced  in 
groups,  but  those  who  danced  alone,  that  spoke  of  their 
encores  and  receptions,  and  sometimes  they  had  got 
them  last  night,  sometimes  years  ago.  Two  girls  met 
in  the  room,  one  of  whom  had  stolen  the  other’s  recep- 
tion, and  — but  it  was  too  dreadful  to  write  about. 
Most  of  them  carried  newspaper  cuttings  in  their  purses 
and  read  them  aloud  to  the  others,  who  would  not 
listen.  Tommy  listened,  however,  and  as  it  was  all 
about  how  one  house  had  risen  at  the  girls  and  they  had 
brought  another  down,  he  thought  they  led  the  most 
adventurous  lives. 

Occasionally  they  sent  him  out  to  buy  newspapers  or 
chestnuts,  and  then  he  had  to  keep  a sharp  eye  on  the 
police  lest  they  knew  about  Reddy.  It  was  a point  of 
honor  with  all  the  boys  he  knew  to  pretend  that  the 
policeman  was  after  them.  To  gull  the  policeman  into 
thinking  all  was  well  they  blackened  their  faces  and 
wore  their  jackets  inside  out  5 their  occupation  was  a 


46 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


constant  state  of  readiness  to  fly  from  him,  and  when 
he  tramped  out  of  sight,  unconscious  of  their  existence, 
they  emerged  from  dark  places  and  spoke  in  exultant 
whispers.  Tommy  had  been  proud  to  join  them,  but 
he  now  resented  their  going  on  in  this  way;  he  felt 
that  he  alone  had  the  right  to  fly  from  the  law.  And 
once  at  least  while  he  was  flying  something  happened 
to  him  that  he  was  to  remember  better,  far  better,  than 
his  mother’s  face. 

What  set  him  running  on  this  occasion  (he  had  been 
sent  out  to  get  one  of  the  girls1  shoes  soled)  was  the 
grandest  sight  to  be  seen  in  London  — an  endless  row 
of  policemen  walking  in  single  file,  all  with  the  right 
leg  in  the  air  at  the  same  time,  then  the  left  leg.  See- 
ing at  once  that  they  were  after  him,  Tommy  ran,  ran, 
ran  until  in  turning  a corner  he  found  himself  wedged 
between  two  legs.  He  was  of  just  sufficient  size  to  fill 
the  aperture,  but  after  a momentary  lock  he  squeezed 
through,  and  they  proved  to  be  the  gate  into  an 
enchanted  land. 

The  magic  began  at  once.  “Dagont,  you  sacket!” 
cried  some  wizard. 

A policeman’s  hand  on  his  shoulder  could  not  have 
taken  the  wind  out  of  Tommy  more  quickly.  In  the 
act  of  starting  a-running  again  he  brought  down  his 
hind  foot  with  a thud  and  stood  stock  still.  Can  any 
one  wonder  ? It  was  the  Thrums  tongue,  and  this  the 
first  time  he  had  heard  it  except  from  his  mother. 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


47 


It  was  a dull  day,  and  all  the  walls  were  dripping  wet, 
this  being  the  part  of  London  where  the  fogs  are  kept. 
Many  men  and  women  were  passing  to  and  fro,  and 
Tommy,  with  a wild  exultation  in  his  breast,  peered  up 
at  the  face  of  this  one  and  that ; but  no,  they  were  only 
ordinary  people,  and  he  played  rub-a-dub  with  his  feet 
on  the  pavement,  so  furious  was  he  with  them  for 
moving  on  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  Draw  up,  ye 
carters;  pedestrians,  stand  still;  London,  silence  fora 
moment,  and  let  Tommy  Sandy s listen! 

Being  but  a frail  plant  in  the  way  of  a flood,  Tommy 
was  rooted  up  and  borne  onward,  but  he  did  not  feel 
the  buffeting.  In  a passion  of  grief  he  dug  his  fists  in 
his  eyes,  for  the  glory  had  been  his  for  but  a moment. 
It  can  be  compared  to  nothing  save  the  parcel  (attached 
to  a concealed  string)  which  Shovel  and  he  once 
placed  on  the  stair  for  Billy  Hankey  to  find,  and  then 
whipped  away  from  him  just  as  he  had  got  it  under 
his  arm.  But  so  near  the  crying,  Tommy  did  not  cry, 
for  even  while  the  tears  were  rushing  to  his  aid  he 
tripped  on  the  step  of  a shop,  and  immediately,  as  if 
that  had  rung  the  magic  bell  again,  a voice,  a woman's 
voice  this  time,  said  shrilly,  “ Threepence  ha'penny, 
and  them  jimply  as  big  as  a bantam's!  Na,  na,  but 
I 'll  gi'e  you  five  bawbees." 

Tommy  sat  down  flop  on  the  step,  feeling  queer  in 
the  head.  Was  it  — was  it  — was  it  Thrums  ? He  knew 
he  had  been  running  a long  time. 


48 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


The  woman,  or  fairy,  or  whatever  yon  choose  to  call 
her,  came  out  of  the  shop  and  had  to  push  Tommy  aside 
to  get  past.  Oh,  what  a sweet  foot  to  be  kicked  by. 
At  the  time,  he  thought  she  was  dressed  not  unlike  the 
women  of  his  own  stair,  but  this  defect  in  his  vision 
he  mended  afterward,  as  you  may  hear.  Of  course,  he 
rose  and  trotted  by  her  side  like  a dog,  looking  up  at 
her  as  if  she  were  a cathedral ; but  she  mistook  his  awe 
for  impudence  and  sent  him  sprawling,  with  the  words, 
“ Tak*  that,  you  glowering  partan ! ” 

Do  you  think  Tommy  resented  thi^  ? On  the  con- 
trary, he  screamed  from  where  he  lay,  “ Say  it  again ! 
say  it  again!  ” 

She  was  gone,  however,  but  only,  as  it  were,  to  let  a 
window  open,  from  which  came  the  cry,  “ Davit,  have 
you  seen  my  man  ? ” 

A male  fairy  roared  back  from  some  invisible  place, 
“He  has  gone  yont  to  Petey’s  wP  the  dambrod.” 

“I’ll  dambrod  him!”  said  the  female  fairy,  and  the 
window  shut. 

Tommy  was  now  staggering  like  one  intoxicated,  but 
he  had  still  some  sense  left  him,  and  he  walked  up  and 
down  in  front  of  this  house,  as  if  to  take  care  of  it.  In 
the  middle  of  the  street  some  boys  were  very  busy  at  a 
game,  carts  and  lorries  passing  over  them  occasionally. 
They  came  to  the  pavement  to  play  marbles,  and  then 
Tommy  noticed  that  one  of  them  wore  what  was  prob- 
ably a glengarry  bonnet.  Could  he  be  a Thrums  boy  ? 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


49 


At  first  lie  played  in  the  stupid  London  way,  but  by 
and  by  he  had  to  make  a new  ring,  and  he  did  it  by 
whirling  round  on  one  foot.  Tommy  knew  from  his 
mother  that  it  is  only  done  in  this  way  in  Thrums. 
Oho!  Oho! 

By  this  time  he  was  prancing  round  his  discovery/ 
saying,  “ I ;m  one,  too  — so  am  I — dagont,  does  yer 
hear  ? dagont ! 99  which  so  alarmed  the  boy  that  he 
picked  up  his  marble  and  fled,  Tommy,  of  course,  after 
him.  Alas!  he  must  have  been  some  mischievous 
sprite,  for  he  lured  his  pursuer  back  into  London  and 
then  vanished,  and  Tommy,  searching  in  vain  for  the 
enchanted  street,  found  his  own  door  instead. 

His  mother  pooh-poohed  his  tale,  though  he  described 
the  street  exactly  as  it  struck  him  on  reflection,  and  it 
bore  a curious  resemblance  to  the  palace  of  Aladdin 
that  Reddy  had  told  him  about,  leaving  his  imagination 
to  fill  in  the  details,  which  it  promptly  did,  with  a 
square,  a town-house,  some  outside  stairs,  and  an  auld 
licht  kirk.  There  was  no  such  street,  however,  his 
mother  assured  him;  he  had  been  dreaming.  But  if 
this  were  so,  why  was  she  so  anxious  to  make  him 
promise  never  to  look  for  the  place  again  ? 

He  did  go  in  search  of  it  again,  daily  for  a time, 
always  keeping  a look-out  for  bow-legs,  and  the  moment 
he  saw  them,  he  dived  recklessly  between,  hoping  to 
come  out  into  fairyland  on  the  other  side.  For  though 
he  had  lost  the  street,  he  knew  that  this  was  the  way  in. 

4 


50 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Shovel  had  never  heard  of  the  street,  nor  had  Bob. 
But  Bob  gave  him  something  that  almost  made  him 
forget  it  for  a time.  Bob  was  his  favorite  among  the 
dancing  girls,  and  she  — or  should  it  be  he  ? The  odd 
thing  about  these  girls  was  that  a number  of  them  were 
really  boys  — or  at  least  were  boys  at  Christmas-time, 
which  seemed  to  Tommy  to  be  even  stranger  than  if 
they  had  been  boys  all  the  year  round.  A friend  of 
Bob’s  remarked  to  her  one  day,  “ You  are  to  be  a girl 
next  winter,  ain’t  you,  Bob  ?”  and  Bob  shook  her  head 
scornfully. 

“ Do  you  see  any  green  in  my  eye,  my  dear  ? ” she 
inquired. 

Her  friend  did  not  look,  but  Tommy  looked,  and 
there  was  none.  He  assured  her  of  this  so  earnestly 
that  Bob  fell  in  love  with  him  on  the  spot,  and  chucked 
him  under  the  chin,  first  with  her  thumb  and  then  with 
her  toe,  which  feat  was  duly  reported  to  Shovel,  who 
could  do  it  by  the  end  of  the  week. 

Did  Tommy,  Bob  wanted  to  know,  still  think  her  a 
mere  woman  ? 

No,  he  withdrew  the  charge,  but  — but — She  was 
wearing  her  outdoor  garments,  and  he  pointed  to  them. 
“ Why  does  yer  wear  them,  then  ? ” he  demanded. 

“For  the  matter  of  that,”  she  replied,  pointing  at  his 
frock,  “ why  do  you  wear  them  ? ” Whereupon  Tommy 
began  to  cry. 

“ I ain’t  not  got  no  right  ones,”  he  blubbered.  Harum- 


BOB  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIM  ON  THE  SPOT 


h *S,°rf  rh(  • 


'*0,s 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


51 


scarum  Bob,  who  was  a trump,  had  him  in  her 
motherly  arms  immediately,  and  the  upshot  of  it  was 
that  a blue  suit  she  had  worn  when  she  was  Sam  Some- 
thing changed  owners.  Mrs.  Sandy s “made  it  up,” 
and  that  is  how  Tommy  got  into  trousers. 

Many  contingencies  were  considered  in  the  making, 
but  the  suit  would  fit  Tommy  by  and  by  if  he  grew,  or 
it  shrunk,  and  they  did  not  pass  each  other  in  the 
night.  When  proud  Tommy  first  put  on  his  suit  the 
most  unexpected  shyness  overcame  him,  and  having  set 
off  vaingloriously  he  stuck  on  the  stair  and  wanted  to 
hide.  Shovel,  who  had  been  having  an  argument  with 
his  old  girl,  came,  all  boastful  bumps,  to  him,  and 
Tommy  just  stood  still  with  a self-conscious  simper  on 
his  face.  And  Shovel,  who  could  have  damped  him 
considerably,  behaved  in  the  most  honorable  manner, 
initiating  him  gravely  into  the  higher  life,  much  as  you 
show  the  new  member  round  your  club. 

It  was  very  risky  to  go  back  to  Reddy,  whom  he  had 
not  seen  for  many  weeks;  but  in  trousers!  He  could 
not  help  it.  He  only  meant  to  walk  up  and  down  her 
street,  so  that  she  might  see  him  from  the  window,  and 
know  that  this  splendid  thing  was  he;  but  though  he 
went  several  times  into  the  street,  Reddy  never  came 
to  the  window. 

The  reason  he  had  to  wait  in  vain  at  Reddy’s  door 
was  that  she  was  dead ; she  had  been  dead  for  quite  a 
long  time  when  Tommy  came  back  to  look  for  her.  You 


52 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


mothers  who  have  lost  your  babies,  I should  be  a sorry 
knave  were  I to  ask  you  to  cry  now  over  the  death  of 
another  woman’s  child.  Eeddy  had  been  lent  to  two 
people  for  a very  little  while,  just  as  your  babies  were, 
and  when  the  time  was  up  she  blew  a kiss  to  them  and 
ran  gleefully  back  to  God,  just  as  your  babies  did. 
The  gates  of  heaven  are  so  easily  found  when  we  are 
little,  and  they  are  always  standing  open  to  let  children 
wander  in. 

But  though  Eeddy  was  gone  away  forever,  mamma 
still  lived  in  that  house,  and  on  a day  she  opened  the 
dooi  to  come  out.  Tommy  was  standing  there  — she 
saw  him  there  waiting  for  Eeddy.  Dry-eyed  this 
son-owful  woman  had  heard  the  sentence  pronounced, 
dry  eyed  she  had  followed  the  little  coffin  to  its  grave ; 
tears  had  not  come  even  when  waking  from  illusive 
dreams  she  put  out  her  hand  in  bed  to  a child  who  was 
not  there;  but  when  she  saw  Tommy  waiting  at  the 
door  for  Eeddy,  who  had  been  dead  for  a month,  her 
bosom  moved  and  she  could  cry  again. 

Those  tears  were  sweet  to  her  husband,  and  it  was  he 
who  took  Tommy  on  his  knee  in  the  room  where  the 
books  were,  and  told  him  that  there  was  no  Eeddy  now. 
When  Tommy  knew  that  Eeddy  was  a deader  he  cried 
bitterly,  and  the  man  said,  very  gently,  “ I am  glad  you 
were  so  fond  of  her.” 

“’T  ain’t  that,”  Tommy  answered  with  a knuckle  in 
his  eye,  “’t  ain’t  that  as  makes  me  cry.”  He  looked 


THE  END  OF  AN  IDYLL 


53 


down  at  his  trousers  and  in  a fresh  outburst  of  childish 
grief  he  wailed,  “It  ?s  them!  ” 

Papa  did  not  understand,  but  the  boy  explained. 

’She  can’t  not  never  see  them  now,7’  he  sobbed,  “and 
I wants  her  to  see  them,  and  they  has  pockets ! ” 

It  had  come  to  the  man  unexpectedly.  He  put 
Tommy  down  almost  roughly,  and  raised  his  hand  to 
his  head  as  if  he  felt  a sudden  pain  there. 

But  Tommy,  you  know,  was  only  a little  boy. 


CHAPTER  V 


THE  GIRL  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 

Elspeth  at  last  did  something  to  win  Tommy*s 
respect;  she  fell  ill  of  an  ailment  called  in  Thrums  the 
croop.  When  Tommy  first  heard  his  mother  call  it 
croop,  he  thought  she  was  merely  humoring  Elspeth, 
and  that  it  was  nothing  more  distinguished  than  London 
whooping-cough,  but  on  learning  that  it  was  genuine 
croop,  he  began  to  survey  the  ambitious  little  creature 
with  a new  interest. 

This  was  well  for  Elspeth,  as  she  had  now  to  spend 
most  of  the  day  at  home  with  him,  their  mother,  whose 
health  was  failing  through  frequent  attacks  of  bronchitis, 
being  no  longer  able  to  carry  her  through  the  streets. 
Of  course  Elspeth  took  to  repaying  his  attentions  by 
loving  him,  and  he  soon  suspected  it,  and  then  gloomily 
admitted  it  to  himself,  but  never  to  Shovqjl.  Being  but 
an  Englishman,  Shovel  saw  no  reason  why  relatives 
should  conceal  their  affection  for  each  other,  but  he 
played  on  this  Scottish  weakness  of  Tommy’s  with 
cruel  enjoyment. 

“She *s  fond  on  yer!  ” he  would  say  severely* 

“You ’s  a liar.” 


THE  GIRL  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


55 


44 Gar  long!  I believe  as  you  ’re  fond  on  her  ! ” 

“You  jest  take  care,  Shovel.” 

“Ain’t  yer  ? ” 

“Na-o!” 

“Will  yer  swear  ?” 

“So  I will  swear.” 

“Let ’s  hear  yer.” 

“Dagont!” 

So  for  a time  the  truth  was  kept  hidden,  and  Shovel 
retired,  casting  aspersions,  and  offering  to  eat  all  the 
hair  on  Elspeth’s  head  for  a penny. 

This  hair  was  white  at  present,  which  made  Tommy 
uneasy  about  her  future,  but  on  the  whole  he  thought 
he  might  make  something  of  her  if  she  was  only  longer. 
Sometimes  he  stretched  her  on  the  floor,  pulling  her 
legs  out  straight,  for  she  had  a silly  way  of  doubling 
them  up,  and  then  he  measured  her  carefully  with  his 
mother’s  old  boots.  Her  growth  proved  to  be  distress- 
ingly irregular,  as  one  day  she  seemed  to  have  grown 
an  inch  since  last  night,  and  then  next  day  she  had 
shrunk  two  inches. 

After  her  day’s  work  Mrs.  Sandys  was  now  so  list- 
less that,  had  not  Tommy  interfered,  Elspeth  would 
have  been  a backward  child.  Reddy  had  been  able  to 
walk  from  the  first  day,  and  so  of  course  had  he,  but 
this  little  slow-coach’s  legs  wobbled  at  the  joints,  like 
the  blade  of  a knife  without  a spring.  The  question  of 
questions  was  How  to  keep  her  on  end  ? 


56 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Tommy  sat  on  the  fender  revolving  this  problem, 
his  head  resting  on  his  hand : that  favorite  position  of 
mighty  intellects  when  about  to  be  photographed. 
Elspeth  lay  on  her  stomach  on  the  floor,  gazing  earnestly 
at  him,  as  if  she  knew  she  was  in  his  thoughts  for  some 
stupendous  purpose.  Thus  the  apple  may  have  looked 
at  Newton  before  it  fell. 

Hankey,  the  postman,  compelled  the  flowers  in  his 
window  to  stand  erect  by  tying  them  to  sticks,  so 
Tommy  took  two  sticks  from  a bundle  of  firewood,  and 
splicing  Elspeth’s  legs  to  them,  held  her  upright 
Against  the  door  with  one  hand.  All  he  asked  of  her 
to-day  was  to  remain  in  this  position  after  he  said 
“One,  two,  three,  four,  picture /”  and  withdrew  his 
hand,  but  down  she  flopped  every  time,  and  he  said, 
with  scorn, 

“You  ain’t  got  no  genius:  you  has  just  talent.” 

But  he  had  her  in  bed  with  the  scratches  nicely  7 
covered  up  before  his  mother  came  home. 

He  tried  another  plan  with  more  success.  Lost  dogs, 
it  may  be  remembered,  had  a habit  of  following  Shovel’s 
father,  and  he  not  only  took  the  wanderers  in,  but 
taught  them  how  to  beg  and  shake  hands  and  walk  on 
two  legs.  Tommy  had  sometimes  been  present  at  these 
agreeable  exercises,  and  being  an  inventive  boy  he  — 
But  as  Elspeth  was  a nice  girl,  let  it  suffice  to  pause 
here  and  add  shyly,  that  in  time  she  could  walk. 

He  also  taught  her  to  speak,  and  if  you  need  to  be 


THE  GIRL  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS  57 

told  with  what  luscious  word  he  enticed  her  into 
language  you  are  sentenced  to  re-read  the  first  pages  of 
his  life. 

“ Thrums,”  he  would  say  persuasively,  “Thrums, 
Thrums.  You  opens  your  mouth  like  this,  and  shuts  it 
like  this,  and  that’s  it.”  Yet  when  he  had  coaxed  her 
thus  for  many  days,  what  does  she  do  but  break  her 
long  silence  with  the  word  “Tommy!”  The  recoil 
knocked  her  over. 

Soon  afterward  she  brought  down  a bigger  bird.  No 
Londoner  can  say  “ Auld  licht,”  and  Tommy  had  often 
crowed  over  Shovel’s  “01  likt.”  When  the  testing  of 
Elspeth  could  be  deferred  no  longer,  he  eyed  her  with 
the  look  a hen  gives  the  green  egg  on  which  she  has 
been  sitting  twenty  days,  but  Elspeth  triumphed,  say- 
ing the  words  modestly  even,  as  if  nothing  inside  her 
told  her  she  had  that  day  done  something  which  would 
have  baffled  Shakespeare,  not  to  speak  of  most  of  the 
gentlemen  who  sit  for  Scotch  constituencies. 

“ Reddy  could  n’t  say  it!”  Tommy  cried  exultantly, 
and  from  that  great  hour  he  had  no  more  fears  for 
Elspeth. 

Next  the  alphabet  knocked  for  admission;  and  entered 
first  M and  P,  which  had  prominence  in  the  only  poster 
visible  from  the  window.  Mrs.  Sandy s had  taught 
Tommy  his  letters,  but  he  had  got  into  words  by  study- 
ing posters. 

Elspeth  being  able  now  to  make  the  perilous  descent 


58 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


of  the  stairs,  Tommy  guided  her  through  the  streets 
(letting  go  hurriedly  if  Shovel  hove  in  sight),  and  here 
she  bagged  new  letters  daily.  With  Catlings  some- 
thing, which  is  the  best,  she  got  into  capital  Cs ; ys  are 
found  easily  when  you  know  where  to  look  for  them 
(they  hang  on  behind) ; Xs  are  never  found  singly, 
but  often  three  at  a time;  Q is  so  aristocratic  that  even 
Tommy  had  only  heard  of  it,  doubtless  it  was  there, 
but  indistinguishable  among  the  masses  like  a celebrity 
in  a crowd;  on  the  other  hand,  big  A and  little  e were 
so  dirt  cheap,  that  these  two  scholars  passed  them  with 
something  very  like  a sneer. 

The  printing-press  is  either  the  greatest  blessing  or 
the  greatest  curse  of  modern  times,  one  sometimes  for- 
gets which.  Elspeth’s  faith  in  it  was  absolute,  and  as 
it  only  spoke  to  her  from  placards,  here  was  her 
religion,  at  the  age  of  four: 

“Pray  without  ceasing. 

Happy  are  they  who  needing  know  the 
Painless  Porous  Plaster.” 

Of  religion,  Tommy  had  said  many  fine  things  to  her, 
embellishments  on  the  simple  doctrine  taught  him  by 
his  mother  before  the  miseries  of  this  world  made  her 
indifferent  to  the  next.  But  the  meaning  of  “Pray 
without  ceasing  ” Elspeth,  who  was  God’s  child  always, 
seemed  to  find  out  for  herself,  and  it  cured  all  her 
troubles.  She  prayed  promptly  for  every  one  she  saw 


THE  GIRL  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


59 


ffoing  wrong,  including  Shovel,  who  occasionally  had 
words  with  Tommy  on  the  subject,  and  she  not  only 
prayed  for  her  mother,  but  proposed  to  Tommy  that 
they  should  buy  her  a porous  plaster.  Mrs.  Sandys 
had  been  down  with  bronchitis  again. 

Tommy  raised  the  monetary  difficulty. 

Elspeth  knew  where  there  was  some  money,  and  it 
was  her  very  own. 

Tommy  knew  where  there  was  money,  and  it  was  his 
very  own. 

Elspeth  would  not  tell  how  much  she  had,  and  it  was 
twopence  halfpenny. 

Neither  would  Tommy  tell,  and  it  was  twopence. 

Tommy  would  get  a surprise  on  his  birthday. 

So  would  Elspeth  get  a surprise  on  her  birthday. 

Elspeth  would  not  tell  what  the  surprise  was  to  be, 
and  it  was  to  be  a gun. 

Tommy  also  must  remain  mute,  and  it  was  to  be  a 
box  of  dominoes. 

Elspeth  did  not  want  dominoes. 

Tommy  knew  that,  but  he  wanted  them. 

Elspeth  discovered  that  guns  cost  fourpence,  and 
dominoes  threepence  halfpenny ; it  seemed  to  her, 
therefore,  that  Tommy  was  defrauding  her  of  a half- 
penny. 

Tommy  liked  her  cheek.  You  got  the  dominoes  fo* 
threepence  halfpenny,  but  the  price  on  the  box  is  five- 
pence,  so  that  Elspeth  would  really  owe  him  a penny. 


60 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


This  led  to  an  agonizing  scene  in  which  Elspeth  wept 
while  Tommy  told  her  sternly  about  Eeddy.  It  had 
become  his  custom  to  tell  the  tale  of  Eeddy  when 
Elspeth  was  obstreperous. 

Then  followed  a scene  in  which  Tommy  called  him- 
self a scoundrel  for  frightening  his  dear  Elspeth,  and 
swore  that  he  loved  none  but  her.  Eesult:  reconcilia- 
tion, and  agreed,  that  instead  of  a gun  and  dominoes, 
they  should  buy  a porous  plaster.  You  know  the  shops 
where  the  plasters  are  to  be  obtained  by  great  colored 
bottles  in  their  windows,  and,  as  it  was  advisable  to 
find  the  very  best  shop,  Tommy  and  Elspeth  in  their 
wanderings  came  under  the  influence  of  the  bottles,  red, 
yellow,  green,  and  blue,  and  color  entered  into  their 
lives,  giving  them  many  delicious  thrills.  These  bottles 
are  the  first  poem  known  to  the  London  child,  and  you 
chemists  who  are  beginning  to  do  without  them  in  your 
windows  should  be  told  that  it  is  a shame. 

In  the  glamour,  then,  of  the  romantic  bottles  walked 
Tommy  and  Elspeth  hand  in  hand,  meeting  so  many 
novelties  that  they  might  have  spared  a tear  for  the 
unfortunate  children  who  sit  in  nurseries  surrounded 
by  all  they  ask  for,  and  if  the  adventures  of  these  two 
frequently  ended  in  the  middle,  they  had  probably 
begun  another  while  the  sailor-suit  boy  was  still  hold- 
ing up  his  leg  to  let  the  nurse  put  on  his  little  sock. 
While  they  wandered,  they  drew  near  unwittingly  to 
the  enchanted  street,  to  which  the  bottles  are  a colored 


THE  GIRL  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


61 


way,  and  at  last  they  were  in  it,  but  Tommy  recognized 
it  not ; he  did  not  even  feel  that  he  was  near  it,  for 
there  were  no  outside  stairs,  no  fairies  strolling  about, 
it  was  a short  street  as  shabby  as  his  own. 

But  someone  had  shouted  “Dinna  haver,  lassie; 
you  ’re  blethering ! ” 

Tommy  whispered  to  Elspeth,  “Be  still j don’t 
speak,”  and  he  gripped  her  hand  tighter  and  stared  at 
the  speaker.  He  was  a boy  of  ten,  dressed  like  a 
Londoner,  and  his  companion  had  disappeared.  Tommy 
never  doubting  but  that  he  was  the  sprite  of  long  ago, 
gripped  him  by  the  sleeve.  All  the  savings  of  Elspeth 
and  himself  were  in  his  pocket,  and  yielding  to  impulse, 
as  was  his  way,  he  thrust  the  fivepence  halfpenny  into 
James  Gloag’s  hand.  The  new  millionaire  gaped,  but 
not  at  his  patron,  for  the  why  and  wherefore  of  this 
gift  were  trifles  to  James  beside  the  tremendous  fact 
that  he  had  fivepence  halfpenny.  “ Almichty  me ! ” he 
cried  and  bolted.  Presently  he  returned,  having 
deposited  his  money  in  a safe  place,  and  his  first 
remark  was  perhaps,  the  meanest  on  record.  He  held 
out  his  hand  and  said  greedily,  “Have  you  ony 
mair  ? ” 

This,  you  feel  certain,  must  have  been  the  most 
important  event  of  that  evening,  but  strange  to  say,  it 
was  not.  Before  Tommy  could  answer  James’s  ques- 
tion, a woman  in  a shawl  had  pounced  upon  him  and 
hurried  him  and  Elspeth  out  of  the  street.  She  had 


62 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


been  standing  at  a corner  looking  wistfully  at  th 
window  blinds  behind  which  folk  from  Thrums  passed 
to  and  fro,  hiding  her  face  from  people  in  the  street, 
but  gazing  eagerly  after  them.  It  was  Tommy’s 
mother,  whose  first  free  act  on  coming  to  London  had 
been  to  find  out  that  street,  and  many  a time  since  then 
she  had  skulked  through  it  or  watched  it  from  dark 
places,  never  daring  to  disclose  herself,  but  sometimes 
recognizing  familiar  faces,  sometimes  hearing  a few 
words  in  the  old  tongue  that  is  harsh  and  ungracious  to 
you,  but  was  so  sweet  to  her,  and  bearing  them  away 
with  her  beneath  her  shawl  as  if  they  were  something 
warm  to  lay  over  her  cold  heart. 

For  a time  she  upbraided  Tommy  passionately  for 
not  keeping  away  from  this  street,  but  soon  her  hunger 
for  news  of  Thrums  overcame  her  prudence,  and  she 
consented  to  let  him  go  back  if  he  promised  never  to 
tell  that  his  mother  came  from  Thrums.  “ And  if  ony- 
body  wants  to  ken  your  name,  say  it’s  Tommy,  but 
dinna  let  on  that  it’s  Tommy  Sandys.” 

“Elspeth,”  Tommy  whispered  that  night,  “I’m  near 
sure  there ’s  something  queer  about  my  mother  and  me 
and  you.”  But  he  did  not  trouble  himself  with  won- 
dering what  the  something  queer  might  be,  so  engrossed 
was  he  in  the  new  and  exciting  life  that  had  suddenly 
opened  to  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  ENCHANTED  STREET 

In  Thrums  Street,  as  it  ought  to  have  been  called, 
herded  at  least  one-half  of  the  Thrums  folk  in  London, 
and  they  formed  a colony,  of  which  the  grocer  at  the 
corner  sometimes  said  wrathfully  that  not  a member 
would  give  sixpence  for  anything  except  Bibles  or 
whiskey.  In  the  streets  one  could  only  tell  they  were 
not  Londoners  by  their  walk,  the  flagstones  having  no 
grip  for  their  feet,  or,  if  they  had  come  south  late  in 
life,  by  their  backs,  which  they  carried  at  the  angle  on 
which  webs  are  most  easily  supported.  When  mixing 
with  the  world  they  talked  the  English  tongue,  which 
came  out  of  them  as  broad  as  if  it  had  been  squeezed 
through  a mangle,  but  when  the  day’s  work  was  done, 
it  was  only  a few  of  the  giddier  striplings  that  remained 
Londoners.  For  the  majority  there  was  no  raking  the 
streets  after  diversion,  they  spent  the  hour  or  two 
before  bed-time  in  reproducing  the  life  of  Thrums. 
Few  of  them  knew  much  of  London  except  the  nearest 
way  between  this  street  and  their  work,  and  their  most 
interesting  visitor  was  a Presbyterian  minister,  most  of 


64 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


whose  congregation  lived  in  much  more  fashionable 
parts,  but  they  were  almost  exclusively  servant  girls, 
and  when  descending  area-steps  to  visit  them  he  had 
been  challenged  often  and  jocularly  by  policemen, 
which  perhaps  was  what  gave  him  a subdued  and 
furtive  appearance. 

The  rooms  were  furnished  mainly  with  articles  bought 
in  London,  but  these  became  as  like  Thrums  dressers 
and  seats  as  their  owners  could  make  them,  old  Petey, 
for  instance,  cutting  the  back  off  a chair  because  he 
felt  most  at  home  on  stools.  Drawers  were  used  as 
baking-boards,  pails  turned  into  salt-buckets,  floors 
were  sanded  and  hearthstones  cammed,  and  the  popular 
supper  consisted  of  porter,  hot  water,  and  soaked  bread, 
after  every  spoonful  of  which  they  groaned  pleasantly, 
and  stretched  their  legs.  Sometimes  they  played  at 
the  dambrod,  but  more  often  they  pulled  down  the 
blinds  on  London  and  talked  of  Thrums  in  their  mother 
tongue.  Nevertheless  few  of  them  wanted  to  return  to 
it,  and  their  favorite  joke  was  the  case  of  James 
Gloag’s  father,  who  being  home-sick  flung  up  his  situa- 
tion and  took  train  for  Thrums,  but  he  was  back  in 
London  in  three  weeks. 

Tommy  soon  had  the  entry  to  these  homes,  and  his 
first  news  of  the  inmates  was  unexpected.  It  was  that 
they  were  always  sleeping.  In  broad  daylight  he  had 
seen  Thrums  men  asleep  on  beds,  and  he  was  somewhat 
ashamed  of  them  until  he  heard  the  excuse.  A number 


THE  ENCHANTED  STREET 


65 


of  the  men  from  Thrums  were  bakers,  the  first  emigrant 
of  this  trade  having  drawn  others  after  him,  and  they 
slept  great  part  of  the  day  to  be  able  to  work  all  night 
in  a cellar,  making  nice  rolls  for  rich  people.  Baker 
Lumsden,  who  became  a friend  of  Tommy,  had  got  his 
place  in  the  cellar  when  his  brother  died,  and  the 
brother  had  succeeded  Matthew  Croall  when  he  died. 

They  die  very  soon,  Tommy  learned  from  Lumsden, 
generally  when  they  are  eight  and  thirty.  Lumsden 
was  thirty-six,  and  when  he  died  his  nephew  was  to  get 
the  place.  The  wages  are  good. 

Then  there  were  several  masons,  one  of  whom,  like 
the  first  baker,  had  found  work  for  all  the  others,  and 
there  were  men  who  had  drifted  into  trades  strange  to 
their  birthplace,  and  there  was  usually  one  at  least  who 
had  come  to  London  to  “ better  himself”  and  had  not 
done  it  as  yet.  The  family  Tommy  liked  best  was  the 
Whamonds,  and  especially  he  liked  old  Petey  and  young 
Petey  Whamond.  They  were  a large  family  of  women 
and  men,  all  of  whom  earned  their  living  in  other  streets, 
except  the  old  man,  who  kept  house  and  was  a famous 
knitter  of  stockings,  as  probably  his  father  had  been 
before  him.  He  was  a great  one,  too,  at  telling  what 
they  would  be  doing  at  that  moment  in  Thrums,  every 
corner  of  which  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  family  hose.  Young  Petey  got  fourteen 
shillings  a week  from  a hatter,  and  one  of  his  duties 
was  to  carry  as  many  as  twenty  band-boxes  at  a time 

5 - 


66 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


through  fashionable  streets;  it  is  a matter  for  elation 
that  dukes  and  statesmen  had  often  to  take  the  curb- 
stone, because  young  Petey  was  coming.  Nevertheless 
young  Petey  was  not  satisfied,  and  never  would  be 
(such  is  the  Thrums  nature)  until  he  became  a salesman 
in  the  shop  to  which  he  acted  at  present  as  fetch  and 
carry,  and  he  used  to  tell  Tommy  that  this  position 
would  be  his  as  soon  as  he  could  sneer  sufficiently  at 
the  old  hats.  When  gentlemen  come  into  the  shop  and 
buy  a new  hat,  he  explained,  they  put  it  on,  meaning 
to  tell  you  to  send  the  old  one  to  their  address,  and  the 
art  of  being  a fashionable  hatter  lies  in  this : you  must 
be  able  to  curl  your  lips  so  contemptuously  at  the  old 
hat  that  they  tell  you  guiltily  to  keep  it,  as  they  have 
no  further  use  for  it.  Then  they  retire  ashamed  of 
their  want  of  moral  courage  and  you  have  made  an 
extra  half-guinea. 

“But  I aye  snort,”  young  Petey  admitted,  “and  it 
should  be  done  without  a sound.”  When  he  graduated, 
he  was  to  marry  Martha  Spens,  who  was  waiting  for 
him  at  Tillyloss.  There  was  a London  seamstress 
whom  he  preferred,  and  she  was  willing,  but  it  is  safest 
to  stick  to  Thrums. 

When  Tommy  was  among  his  new  friends  a Scotch 
word  or  phrase  often  escaped  his  lips,  but  old  Petey 
and  the  others  thought  he  had  picked  it  up  from  them, 
and  would  have  been  content  to  accept  him  as  a London 
waif  who  lived  somewhere  round  the  corner.  To  trick 


THE  ENCHANTED  STREET 


67 


people  so  simply,  however,  is  not  agreeable  to  an  artist, 
and  he  told  them  his  name  was  Tommy  Shovel,  and 
that  his  old  girl  walloped  him,  and  his  father  found 
dogs,  all  which  inventions  Thrums  Street  accepted  as 
true.  What  is  much  more  noteworthy  is  that,  as  he 
gave  them  birth,  Tommy  half  believed  them  also,  being 
already  the  best  kind  of  actor. 

Not  all  the  talking  was  done  by  Tommy  when  he 
came  home  with  news,  for  he  seldom  mentioned  a 
Thrums  name,  of  which  his  mother  could  not  tell  him 
something  more.  But  sometimes  she  did  not  choose 
to  tell,  as  when  he  announced  that  a certain  Elspeth 
Lindsay,  of  the  Marywellbrae,  was  dead.  After  this 
she  ceased  to  listen,  for  old  Elspeth  had  been  her 
grandmother,  and  she  had  now  no  kin  in  Thrums. 

“Tell  me  about  the  Painted  Lady,”  Tommy  said  to 
her.  “Is  it  true  she’s  a witch?”  But  Mrs.  Sandys 
had  never  heard  of  any  woman  so  called : the  Painted 
Lady  must  have  gone  to  Thrums  after  her  time. 

“There  ain’t  no  witches  now,”  said  Elspeth  tremu- 
lously; Shovel’s  mother  had  told  her  so. 

“Not  in  London,”  replied  Tommy,  with  contempt; 
and  this  is  all  that  was  said  of  the  Painted  Lady  then. 
It  is  the  first  mention  of  her  in  these  pages. 

The  people  Mrs.  Sandys  wanted  to  hear  of  chiefly 
were  Aaron  Latta  and  Jean  Myles,  and  soon  Tommy 
brought  news  of  them,  but  at  the  same  time  he  had 
heard  of  the  Den,  and  he  said  first: 


68 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Oh,  mother,  I thought  as  you  had  told  me  about 
all  the  beauty  places  in  Thrums,  and  you  ain’t  never 
told  me  about  the  Den.” 

His  mother  heaved  a quick  breath.  “It’s  the  only 
place  I hinna  telled  you  o’,”  she  said. 

“ Had  you  forget  it,  mother  ? ” 

Forget  the  Den  ! Ah,  no,  Tommy,  your  mother  had 
not  forgotten  the  Den. 

“And,  listen,  Elspeth,  in  the  Den  there’s  a bonny 
spring  of  water  called  the  Cuttle  Well.  Had  you  for- 
got the  Cuttle  Well,  mother?” 

No,  no;  when  Jean  Myles  forgot  the  names  of  her 
children  she  would  still  remember  the  Cuttle  Well. 
Regardless  now  of  the  whispering  between  Tommy  and 
Elspeth,  she  sat  long  over  the  fire,  and  it  is  not  difficult 
to  fathom  her  thoughts.  They  were  of  the  Den  and  the 
Cuttle  Well. 

Into  the  life  of  every  man,  and  no  woman,  there 
comes  a moment  when  he  learns  suddenly  that  he  is 
held  eligible  for  marriage.  A girl  gives  him  the  jag, 
and  it  brings  out  the  perspiration.  Of  the  issue  else- 
where of  this  stab  with  a bodkin  let  others  speak;  in 
Thrums  its  commonest  effect  is  to  make  the  callant’s 
body  take  a right  angle  to  his  legs,  for  he  has  been 
touched  in  the  fifth  button,  and  he  backs  away  broken- 
winded.  By  and  by,  however,  he  is  at  his  work  — 
among  the  turnip-shoots,  say  — guffawing  and  clapping 
his  corduroys,  with  pauses  for  uneasy  meditation,  and 


THE  ENCHANTED  STREET 


69 


there  he  ripens  with  the  swedes,  so  that  by  the  back- 
end of  the  year  he  has  discovered,  and  exults  to  know, 
that  the  reward  of  manhood  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  this  sensation  at  the  ribs.  Soon  thereafter,  or  at 
worst,  sooner  or  later  (for  by  holding  out  he  only  puts 
the  women’s  dander  up),  he  is  led  captive  to  the  Cuttle 
Well.  This  well  has  the  reputation  of  being  the  place 
where  it  is  most  easily  said. 

The  wooded  ravine  called  the  Den  is  in  Thrums 
rather  than  on  its  western  edge,  but  is  so  craftily 
hidden  away  that  when  within  a stone’s  throw  you  may 
give  up  the  search  for  it;  it  is  also  so  deep  that  larks 
rise  from  the  bottom  and  carol  overhead,  thinking 
themselves  high  in  the  heavens  before  they  are  on  a 
level  with  Nether  Drumley’s  farmland.  In  shape  it  is 
almost  a semicircle,  but  its  size  depends  on  you  and 
the  maid.  If  she  be  with  you,  the  Den  is  so  large  that 
you  must  rest  here  and  there;  if  you  are  after  her 
boldly,  you  can  dash  to  the  Cuttle  Well,  which  was  the 
trysting-place,  in  the  time  a stout  man  takes  to  lace  his 
boots;  if  you  are  of  those  self-conscious  ones  who  look 
behind  to  see  whether  jeering  blades  are  following,  you 
may  crouch  and  wriggle  your  way  onward  and  not  be 
with  her  in  half  an  hour. 

Old  Petey  had  told  Tommy  that,  on  the  whole,  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  life  on  a Saturday  evening  is  to 
put  your  back  against  a stile  that  leads  into  the  Den 
and  rally  the  sweethearts  as  they  go  by.  The  lads, 


70 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


when  they  see  you,  want  to  go  round  by  the  other  stile, 
but  the  lasses  like  it,  and  often  the  sport  ends  spiritedly 
with  their  giving  you  a clout  on  the  head. 

Through  the  Den  runs  a tiny  burn,  and  by  its  side  is 
a pink  path,  dyed  this  pretty  color,  perhaps,  by  the 
blushes  the  ladies  leave  behind  them.  The  burn  as  it 
passes  the  Cuttle  Well,  which  stands  higher  and  just 
out  of  sight,  leaps  in  vain  to  see  who  is  making  that 
cooing  noise,  and  the  well,  taking  the  spray  for  kisses, 
laughs  all  day  at  Romeo,  who  cannot  get  up.  Well  is 
a name  it  must  have  given  itself,  for  it  is  only  a spring 
in  the  bottom  of  a basinful  of  water,  where  it  makes 
about  as  much  stir  in  the  world  as  a minnow  jumping 
at  a fly.  They  say  that  if  a boy,  by  making  a bowl  of 
his  hands,  should  suddenly  carry  off  all  the  water,  a 
quick  girl  could  thread  her  needle  at  the  spring.  But 
it  is  a spring  that  will  not  wait  a moment. 

Men  who  have  been  lads  in  Thrums  sometimes  go 
back  to  it  from  London  or  from  across  the  seas,  to  look 
again  at  some  battered  little  house  and  feel  the  blasts 
of  their  bairnhood  playing  through  the  old  wynds,  and 
they  may  take  with  them  a foreign  wife.  They  show 
her  everything,  except  the  Cuttle  Well;  they  often  go 
there  alone.  The  well  is  sacred  to  the  memory  of  first 
love.  You  may  walk  from  the  well  to  the  round  ceme- 
tery in  ten  minutes.  It  is  a common  walk  for  those 
who  go  back. 

First  love  is  but  a boy  and  girl  playing  at  the  Cuttle 


THE  ENCHANTED  STREET 


71 


Well  with  a bird’s  egg.  They  blow  it  on  one  summer 
evening  in  the  long  grass,  and  on  the  next  it  is  borne 
away  on  a coarse  laugh,  or  it  breaks  beneath  the  burden 
of  a tear.  And  yet  — I once  saw  an  aged  woman,  a 
widow  of  many  years,  cry  softly  at  mention  of  the 
Cuttle  Well.  “ John  was  a good  man  to  you,”  I said, 
for  John  had  been  her  husband.  “He  was  a leal  man 
to  me,”  she  answered  with  wistful  eyes,  “ay,  he  was  a 
leal  man  to  me  — but  it  wasna  John  I was  thinking  o’. 
You  dinna  ken  what  makes  me  greet  so  sair,”  sh& 
added,  presently,  and  though  I thought  I knew  now  I 
was  wrong.  “It’s  because  I canna  mind  his  name,” 
she  said. 

So  the  Cuttle  Well  has  its  sad  memories  and  its 
bright  ones,  and  many  of  the  bright  memories  have 
become  sad  with  age,  as  so  often  happens  to  beautiful 
things,  but  the  most  mournful  of  all  is  the  story  of 
Aaron  Latta  and  Jean  Myles.  Beside  the  well  there 
stood  for  long  a great  pink  stone,  called  the  Shoaging 
Stone,  because  it  could  be  rocked  like  a cradle,  and  on 
it  lovers  used  to  cut  their  names.  Often  Aaron  Latta 
and  Jean  Myles  sat  together  on  the  Shoaging  Stone, 
and  then  there  came  a time  when  it  bore  these  words, 
cut  by  Aaron  Latta : 

Here  lies  the  Manhood  of  Aaron  Latta, 

A Fond  Son,  a Faithful  Friend  and  a true  Lover, 
Who  Violated  the  Feelings  of  Sex  on 
this  Spot,  And  is  now  the  Scunner  of  God  and  Man, 


72 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Tommy’s  mother  now  heard  these  words  for  the  first 
time,  Aaron  having  cut  them  on  the  stone  after  she  left 
Thrums,  and  her  head  sank  at  each  line,  as  if  someone 
had  struck  four  blows  at  her. 

The  stone  was  no  longer  at  the  Cuttle  Well.  As  the 
easiest  way  of  obliterating  the  words,  the  minister  had 
ordered  it  to  be  broken,  and  of  the  pieces  another 
mason  had  made  stands  for  watches,  one  of  which  was 
now  in  Thrums  Street. 

u Aaron  Latta  ain’t  a mason  now,”  Tommy  rattled 
on : “ he  is  a warper,  because  he  can  warp  in  his  own 
house  without  looking  on  mankind  or  speaking  to 
mankind.  Auld  Petey  said  he  minded  the  day  when 
Aaron  Latta  was  a merry  loon,  and  then  Andrew 
McVittie  said,  € God  behears,  to  think  that  Aaron  Latta 
was  ever  a merry  man ! ’ and  Baker  Lumsden  said, 
a Curse  her ! ’ ” 

His  mother  shrank  in  her  chair,  but  said  nothing, 
and  Tommy  explained:  “It  was  Jean  Myles  he  was 
cursing;  did  you  ken  her,  mother?  she  ruined  Aaron 
Latta’s  life.” 

“Ay,  and  wha  ruined  Jean  Myles’s  life  ?”  his  mother 
cried  passionately. 

Tommy  did  not  know,  but  he  thought  that  young 
Petey  might  know,  for  young  Petey  had  said:  “If  I 
had  been  Jean  Myles  I would  have  spat  in  Aaron’s  face 
rather  than  marry  him.” 

Mrs.  Sandys  seemed  pleased  to  hear  this. 


THE  ENCHANTED  STREET 


73 


“ They  wouldna  tell  me  what  it  were  she  did,” 
Tommy  went  on ; “ they  said  it  was  ower  ugly  a story, 
but  she  were  a bad  one,  for  they  stoned  her  out  of 
Thrums.  I dinna  know  where  she  is  now,  but  she  were 
stoned  out  of  Thrums ! ” 

“No  alane  ?” 

“ There  was  a man  with  her,  and  his  name  was  — it 
was ” 

His  mother  clasped  her  hands  nervously  while  Tommy 
tried  to  remember  the  name.  “ His  name  was  Magerful 
Tam,”  he  said  at  length. 

“Ay,”  said  his  mother,  knitting  her  teeth,  “that  was 
his  name.” 

“ I dinna  mind  any  more,”  Tommy  concluded.  “Yes, 
X mind  they  aye  called  Aaron  Latta  4 Poor  Aaron 
Latta.  ’ ” 

“Did  they  ? I warrant,  though,  there  wasna  one  as 
said  4 Poor  Jean  Myles  ’ ?” 

She  began  the  question  in  a hard  voice,  but  as  she 
said  “Poor  Jean  Myles”  something  caught  in  her 
throat,  and  she  sobbed,  painful  dry  sobs. 

“ How  could  they  pity  her  when  she  were  such  a bad 
one  ? ” Tommy  answered  briskly. 

“ Is  there  none  to  pity  bad  ones  ? ” said  his  sorrowful 
mother. 

Elspeth  plucked  her  by  the  skirt.  “ There  *s  God, 
ain’t  there  ? ” she  said,  inquiringly,  and  getting  no 
answer  she  flopped  upon  her  knees,  to  say  a babyish 


74 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


prayer  that  would  sound  comic  to  anybody  except  to 
Him  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

“ You  ain’t  praying  for  a woman  as  was  a disgrace  to 
Thrums  ! ” Tommy  cried,  jealously,  and  he  was  about 
to  raise  her  by  force,  when  his  mother  stayed  his  hand. 

“Let  her  alane,”  she  said,  with  a twitching  mouth 
and  filmy  eyes.  “Let  her  alane.  Let  my  bairn  pray 
for  Jean  Myles.” 


CHAPTER  VH 


COMIC  OVERTURE  TO  A TRAGEDY 

"Jean  Myles  bides  in  London 99  was  the  next  remark* 
able  news  brought  by  Tommy  from  Thrums  Street. 
“ And  that  ain’t  all,  Magerful  Tam  is  her  man  5 and  that 
ain’t  all,  she  has  a laddie  called  Tommy  and  that  ain’t 
all,  Petey  and  the  rest  has  never  seen  her  in  London,  but 
she  writes  letters  to  Thrums  folks  and  they  writes  to 
Petey  and  tells  him  what  she  said.  That  ain’t  all  neither, 
they  canna  find  out  vvhat  street  she  bides  in,  but  it ’s  on 
the  bonny  side  of  London,  and  it ’s  grand,  and  she  wears 
silk  clothes,  and  her  Tommy  has  velvet  trousers,  and 
they  have  a servant  as  calls  him  * sir.’  Oh,  I would  just 
like  to  kick  him  ! They  often  looks  for  her  in  the  grand 
streets,  but  they’re  angry  at  her  getting  on  so  well,  and 
Martha  Scrymgeour  said  it  were  enough  to  make  good 
women  like  her  stop  going  reg’lar  to  the  kirk.” 

“ Martha  said  that!”  exclaimed  his  mother,  highly 
pleased.  “ Heard  you  anything  of  a woman  called 
Esther  Auld?  Her  man  does  the  orra  work  at  the 
Tappit  Hen  public  in  Thrums.” 

“ He ’s  head  man  at  the  Tappit  Hen  public  now,”  an* 
swered  Tommy;  “and  she  wishes  she  could  find  out 


76 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


where  Jean  Myles  bides,  so  as  she  could  write  and  tell 
her  that  she  is  grand  too,  and  has  six  hair-bottomed 
chairs.” 

“ She  ’ll  never  get  the  satisfaction,”  said  his  mother 
triumphantly.  “Tell  me  more  about  her.” 

“ She  has  a laddie  called  Francie,  and  he  has  yellow 
curl  , and  she  nearly  greets  because  she  canna  tell  Jean 
Myles  that  he  goes  to  a school  for  the  children  of  gentle- 
men only.  She  is  so  mad  when  she  gets  a letter  from 
Jean  Myles  that  she  takes  to  her  bed.” 

“Yea,  yea!  ” said  Mrs.  Sandy s cheerily. 

“But  they  think  Jean  Myles  has  been  brought  low  at 
last,”  continued  Tommy,  1 because  she  hasna  wrote  for 
^ ong  time  to  Thrums,  and  Esther  Auld  said  that  if  she 
knowed  for  certain  as  Jean  Myles  had  been  brought  low, 
she  would  put  a threepenn  bit  in  the  kirk  plate.” 

“I’m  glad  you’ve  telled  me  that,  laddie,”  said  Mrs. 
Sandys,  and  next  day,  unknown  to  her  children,  she 
wrote  another  letter  She  knew  she  ran  a risk  of  dis- 
covery, yet  it  was  probable  that  Tommy  would  only  hear 
her  referred  to  in  Thrums  Street  by  her  maiden  name, 
which  he  had  never  heard  from  her,  and  as  for  her  hus- 
band he  had  been  Magerful  Tam  to  everyone.  The  risk 

was  great,  but  the  pleasure 

Unsuspicious  Tommy  soon  had  news  of  another  letter 
from  Jean  Myles,  which  had  sent  Esther  Auld  to  bed 
again. 

“Instead  of  being  brought  low,”  he  announced,  “Jean 


COMIC  OVERTURE  TO  A TRAGEDY 


77 


Myles  is  grander  than  ever.  Her  Tommy  has  a gov- 
erness.” 

“ That  would  be  a doush  of  water  in  Esther’s  face  ? ” 
his  mother  said,  smiling. 

“She  wrote  to  Martha  Scrymgeour,”  said  Tommy, 
“that  it  ain’t  no  pleasure  to  her  now  to  boast  as  her 
laddie  is  at  a school  for  gentlemen’s  children  only.  But 
what  made  her  maddest  was  a bit  in  Jean  Myles’s  letter 
about  chairs.  Jean  Myles  has  give  all  her  hair-bot- 
tomed chairs  to  a poor  woman  and  buyed  a new  kind, 
because  hair-bottomed  ones  ain’t  fashionable  now.  So 
Esther  Auld  can’t  not  bear  the  sight  of  her  chairs  now, 
though  she  were  windy  of  them  till  the  letter  went  to 
Thrums.” 

“ Poor  Esther  ! ” said  Mrs.  Sandys  gaily. 

“ Oh,  and  I forgot  this,  mother.  Jean  Myles’s  reason 
for  not  telling  where  she  bides  in  London  is  that  she ’s 
so  grand  that  she  thinks  if  auld  Petey  and  the  rest 
knowed  where  the  place  was  they  would  visit  her  and 
boast  as  they  was  her  friends.  Auld  Petey  stamped  wi’ 
rage  when  he  heard  that,  and  Martha  Scrymgeour  said, 
1 Oh,  the  pridefu’  limmer ! ’ ” 

“Ay,  Martha,”  muttered  Mrs.  Sandys,  “you  and  Jean 
Myles  is  evens  now.” 

But  the  passage  that  had  made  them  all  wince  the 
most  was  one  giving  Jean’s  reasons  for  making  no  calls 
in  Thrums  Street.  “You  can  break  it  to  Martha  Scrym- 
geour’s  father  and  mither,”  the  letter  said,  “and  to 


78 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Petey  Whamond’s  sisters  and  the  rest  as  has  friends  in 
London,  that  I have  seen  no  Thrums  faces  here,  the  low 
part  where  they  bide  not  being  for  the  like  of  me  to  file 
my  feet  in.  Forby  that,  I could  not  let  my  son  mix  with 
their  bairns  for  fear  they  should  teach  him  the  vulgar 
Thrums  words  and  clarty  his  blue-velvet  suit.  I’m 
thinking  you  have  to  dress  your  laddie  in  corduroy, 
Esther,  but  you  see  that  would  not  do  for  mine.  So  no 
more  at  present,  and  we  all  join  in  compliments,  and  my 
little  velvets  says  he  wishes  I would  send  some  of  his 
toys  to  your  little  corduroys.  And  so  maybe  I will, 
Esther,  if  you  ’ll  tell  Aaron  Latta  how  rich  and  happy  I 
am,  and  if  you  ’re  feared  to  say  it  to  his  face,  tell  it  to  the 
roaring  farmer  of  Double  Dykes,  and  he  ’ll  pass  it  on.” 

“ Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a woman?  ” Tommy  said 
indignantly,  when  he  had  repeated  as  much  of  this  insult 
to  Thrums  as  he  could  remember. 

But  it  was  information  his  mother  wanted. 

“ What  said  they  to  that  bit?”  she  asked. 

At  first,  it  appears,  they  limited  their  comments  to 
“Losh,  losh,”  “ keeps  a’,”  “ it  cows,”  “my  certie,”  “ay, 
ay,”  “ sal,  tal,”  “ dagont  ” (the  meaning  of  which  is 
obvious).  But  by  and  by  they  recovered  their  breath, 
and  then  Baker  Lumsden  said,  wonderingly  : 

“ Wha  that  was  at  her  marriage  could  have  thought  it 
would  turn  out  so  weel  ? It  was  an  eerie  marriage  that, 
Petey ! ” 

“ Ay,  man,  you  may  say  so,”  old  Petey  answered.  “ I 


COMIC  OVERTURE  TO  A TRAGEDY 


79 


was  there ; I was  one  o’  them  as  went  in  ahint  Aaron 
Latta,  and  I ’m  no’  likely  to  forget  it.” 

“ I wasna  there,”  said  the  baker,  “ but  I was  standing 
at  the  door,  and  I saw  the  hearse  drive  up.” 

“ What  did  they  mean,  mother  ? ” Tommy  asked,  but 
she  shuddered  and  replied,  evasively,  “Did  Martha 
Scrymgeour  say  anything  ? ” 

“ She  said  such  a lot,”  he  had  to  confess,  “ that  I dinna 
mind  none  on  it.  But  I mind  what  her  father  in  Thrums 
wrote  to  her ; he  wrote  to  her  that  if  she  saw  a carriage 
go  by,  she  was  to  keep  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  for  likely 
as  not  Jean  Myles  would  be  in  it,  and  she  thought  as 
they  was  all  dirt  beneath  her  feet.  But  Kirsty  Ross  — 
who  is  she  ? ” 

“ She ’s  Martha’s  mother.  What  about  her  ? ” 

“ She  wrote  at  the  end  of  the  letter  that  Martha  was 
to  hang  on  ahint  the  carriage  and  find  out  where  Jean 
Myles  bides.” 

“ Laddie,  that  was  like  Kirsty  ! Heard  you  what  the 
roaring  farmer  o’  Double  Dykes  said  ? ” 

No,  Tommy  had  not  heard  him  mentioned.  And  in- 
deed the  roaring  farmer  of  Double  Dykes  had  said 
nothing.  He  was  already  lying  very  quiet  on  the  south 
side  of  the  cemetery. 

Tommy’s  mother’s  next  question  cost  her  a painful 
effort.  “ Did  you  hear,”  she  asked,  “ whether  they  telled 
Aaron  Latta  about  the  letter  ? ” 

“Yes,  they  telled  him,”  Tommy  replied,  “and  he  saJd 


80 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


a queer  thing;  lie  said,  ‘ Jean  Myles  is  dead,  I was  at 
her  coffining/  That ’s  what  he  aye  says  when  they  tell 
him  there’s  another  letter.  I wonder  what  he  means, 
mother  ? ” 

“ I wonder ! ” she  echoed,  faintly.  The  only  pleasure 
left  her  was  to  raise  the  envy  of  those  who  had  hooted 
her  from  Thrums,  but  she  paid  a price  for  it.  Many  a 
stab  she  had  got  from  the  unwitting  Tommy  as  he  re- 
peated the  gossip  of  his  new  friends,  and  she  only  won 
their  envy  at  the  cost  of  their  increased  ill-will.  They 
thought  she  was  lording  it  in  London,  and  so  they  were 
merciless ; had  they  known  how  poor  she  was  and  how 
ill,  they  would  have  forgotten  everything  save  that  she 
was  a Thrummy  like  themselves,  and  there  were  few  but 
would  have  shared  their  all  with  her.  But  she  did  not 
believe  this,  and  therefore  you  may  pity  her,  for  the 
hour  was  drawing  near,  and  she  knew  it,  when  she  must 
appeal  to  some  one  for  her  children’s  sake,  not  for  her 
own. 

No,  not  for  her  own.  When  Tommy  was  wandering 
the  pretty  parts  of  London  with  James  Gloag  and  other 
boys  from  Thrums  Street  in  search  of  Jean  Myles,  whom 
they  were  to  know  by  her  carriage  and  her  silk  dress  and 
her  son  in  blue  velvet,  his  mother  was  in  bed  with  bron- 
chitis in  the  wretched  room  we  know  of,  or  creeping  to 
the  dancing  school,  coughing  all  the  way. 

Some  of  the  fits  of  coughing  were  very  near  being  her 
last,  but  she  wrestled  with  her  trouble,  seeming  at  times 


COMIC  OVERTURE  TO  A TRAGEDY 


81 


to  stifle  it,  and  then  for  weeks  she  managed  to  go  to  her 
work,  which  was  still  hers,  because  Shovel's  old  girl  did 
it  for  her  when  the  bronchitis  would  not  be  defied. 
Shovel's  old  slattern  gave  this  service  unasked  and  with- 
out payment ; if  she  was  thanked  it  was  ungraciously,  but 
she  continued  to  do  all  she  could  when  there  was  need ; 
she  smelled  of  gin,  but  she  continued  to  do  all  she 
could. 

The  wardrobe  had  been  put  upon  its  back  on  the  floor, 
and  so  converted  into  a bed  for  Tommy  and  Elspeth,  who 
were  sometimes  wakened  in  the  night  by  a loud  noise, 
which  alarmed  them  until  they  learned  that  it  was  only 
the  man  in  the  next  room  knocking  angrily  on  the  wall 
because  their  mother's  cough  kept  him  from  sleeping. 

Tommy  knew  what  death  was  now,  and  Elspeth  knew 
its  name,  and  both  were  vaguely  aware  that  it  was  look- 
ing for  their  mother ; but  if  she  could  only  hold  out  till 
Hogmanay,  Tommy  said,  they  would  fleg  it  out  of  the 
house.  Hogmanay  is  the  mighty  winter  festival  of 
Thrums,  and  when  it  came  round  these  two  were  to  give 
their  mother  a present  that  would  make  her  strong.  It 
was  not  to  be  a porous  plaster.  Tommy  knew  now  of 
something  better  than  that. 

“And  I knows  too!"  Elspeth  gurgled,  “and  I has 
threepence  a'ready,  I has." 

“ Whisht ! " said  Tommy,  in  an  agony  of  dread,  “ she 
hears  you,  and  she  '11  guess.  We  ain't  speaking  of  noth- 
ing to  give  to  you  at  Hogmanay,"  he  said  to  his  mother 

6 


82 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


with  great  cunning.  Then  he  winked  at  Elspeth  and 
said,  with  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  “ I hinna  twopence ! ” 
and  Elspeth,  about  to  cry  in  fright,  “ Have  you  spended 
it  ? ” saw  the  joke  and  crowed  instead,  “Nor  yet  has  I 
threepence ! ” 

They  smirked  together,  until  Tommy  saw  a change 
come  over  Elspeth’s  face,  which  made  him  run  her  out- 
side the  door. 

“ You  was  a-going  to  pray ! ” he  said,  severely. 

“’Cos  it  was  a lie,  Tommy.  I does  have  threepence.” 

“Well,  you  ain’t  a-going  to  get  praying  about  it.  She 
would  hear  yer.” 

“ I would  do  it  low,  Tommy.” 

“ She  would  see  yer.” 

“ Oh,  Tommy,  let  me.  God  is  angry  with  me.” 

Tommy  looked  down  the  stair,  and  no  one  was  in 
sight.  “ I ’ll  let  yer  pray  here,”  he  whispered,  “ and  you 
can  say  I have  twopence.  But  be  quick,  and  do  it 
standing.” 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Sandys  had  been  thinking  that  when 
Hogmanay  came  her  children  might  have  no  mother  to 
bring  presents  to,  for  on  their  return  to  the  room  her 
eyes  followed  them  wofully,  and  a shudder  of  apprehen- 
sion shook  her  torn  frame.  Tommy  gave  Elspeth  a look 
that  meant  “ I ’m  sure  there  ’s  something  queer  about 
her.” 

There  was  also  something  queer  about  himself,  which 

Ais  time  had  the  strangest  gallop.  It  began  one  day 


COMIC  OVERTURE  TO  A TRAGEDY 


83 


with  a series  of  morning  calls  from  Shovel,  who  suddenly 
popped  his  head  over  the  top  of  the  door  (he  was  stand- 
ing on  the  handle),  roared  “Roastbeef!  ” in  the  manner 
of  a railway  porter  announcing  the  name  of  a station, 
and  then  at  once  withdrew. 

He  returned  presently  to  say  that  vain  must  be  all 
attempts  to  wheedle  his  secret  from  him,  and  yet  again 
to  ask  irritably  why  Tommy  was  not  coming  out  to  hear 
all  about  it.  Then  did  Tommy  desert  Elspeth,  and  on 
the  stair  Shovel  showed  him  a yellow  card  with  this 
printed  on  it : “ S.  R.  J.  C.  — Supper  Ticket ; ” and  writ- 
ten beneath,  in  a lady’s  hand:  “ Admit  Joseph  Salt.” 
The  letters,  Shovel  explained,  meant  Society  for  the 
somethink  of  Juvenile  Criminals,  and  the  toffs  what  ran 
it  got  hold  of  you  when  you  came  out  of  quod.  . Then  if 
you  was  willing  to  repent  they  wrote  down  your  name 
and  the  place  what  you  lived  at  in  a book,  and  one  of 
them  came  to  see  yer  and  give  yer  a ticket  for  the  blow- 
out  night.  This  was  blow-out  night,  and  that  were 
Shovel’s  ticket.  He  had  bought  it  from  Hump  Salt  for 
fourpence.  What  you  get  at  the  blow-out  was  roast- 
beef,  plum-duff,  and  an  orange ; but  when  Hump  saw 
the  fourpence  he  could  not  wait. 

A favor  was  asked  of  Tommy.  Shovel  had  been  told 
by  Hump  that  it  was  the  custom  of  the  toffs  to  sit  beside 
you  and  question  you  about  your  crimes,  and  lacking  the 
imagination  that  made  Tommy  such  an  ornament  to  the 
house,  the  chances  were  that  he  would  flounder  in  his 


84 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


answers  and  be  ejected.  Hump  had  pointed  this  out 
to  him  after  pocketing  the  four  pence.  Would  Tommy, 

therefore,  make  up  things  for  him  to  say;  reward,  the 
orange. 

This  was  a proud  moment  for  Tommy,  as  Shovel's 
knowledge  of  crime  was  much  more  extensive  than  his 
own,  though  they  had  both  studied  it  in  the  pictures  of  a 
lively  newspaper  subscribed  to  by  Shovel,  senior.  He 
became  patronizing  at  once  and  rejected  the  orange  as 
insufficient. 

Then  suppose,  after  he  got  into  the  hall,  Shovel  dropped 
his  ticket  out  at  the  window ; Tommy  could  pick  it  up, 
and  then  it  would  admit  him  also. 

' Tommy  liked  this,  but  foresaw  a danger : the  ticket 
might  be  taken  from  Shovel  at  the  door,  just  as  they 
took  them  from  you  at  that  singing  thing  in  the  church 
he  had  attended  with  young  Petey. 

So  help  Shovel's  davy,  there  was  no  fear  of  this. 
They  were  superior  toffs,  what  trusted  to  your  honor. 

Would  Shovel  swear  to  this  ? 

He  would. 

But  would  he  swear  dagont  ? 

He  swore  dagont ; and  then  Tommy  had  him.  As  he 
was  so  sure  of  it,  he  could  not  object  to  Tommy's  being 
the  one  who  dropped  the  ticket  out  at  the  window  ? 

Shovel  did  object  for  a time,  but  after  a wrangle  he 
gave  up  the  ticket,  intending  to  take  it  from  Tommy 
when  primed  with  the  necessary  tale.  So  they  parted 


COMIC  OVERTURE  TO  A TRAGEDY 


85 


until  evening,  and  Tommy  returned  to  Elspeth,  secretive 
but  elated.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  he  was  in  thought, 
now  waggling  his  head  smugly  over  some  dark,  unutter- 
able design  and  again  looking  a little  scared.  In  grow- 
ing alarm  she  watched  his  face,  and  at  last  she  slipped 
upon  her  knees,  but  he  had  her  up  at  once  and  said, 
reproachfully : 

“ It  were  me  as  teached  yer  to  pray,  and  now  yer  prays 
for  me ! That  ’s  fine  treatment ! 99 

Nevertheless,  after  his  mother’s  return,  just  before 
he  stole  out  to  join  Shovel,  he  took  Elspeth  aside  and 
whispered  to  her,  nervously  : 

“ You  can  pray  for  me  if  you  like,  for,  oh,  Elspeth, 
I ’m  thinking  as  I ’ll  need  it  sore  1 99  And  sore  he  needed 
it  before  the  night  was  out. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 

u I loye  my  dear  father  and  my  dear  mother  and  all 
the  dear  little  kids  at  ’ome.  You  are  a kind  laidy  or 
gentleman.  I love  yer.  I will  never  do  it  again,  so 
help  me  bob.  Amen.” 

This  was  what  Shovel  muttered  to  himself  again  and 
again  as  the  two  boys  made  their  way  across  the  lamp- 
lit  Hungerford  Bridge,  and  Tommy  asked  him  what  it 
meant. 

“My  old  gal  learned  me  that;  she’s  deep,”  Shovel 
said,  wiping  the  words  off  his  mouth  with  his  sleeve. 

“ But  you  got  no  kids  at  ’ome  ! ” remonstrated  Tommy. 
(Ameliar  was  now  in  service.) 

Shovel  turned  on  him  with  the  fury  of  a mother  pro- 
tecting her  young.  “ Don’t  you  try  for  to  knock  none 
on  it  out,”  he  cried,  and  again  fell  a-mumbling. 

Said  Tommy,  scornfully : “ If  you  says  it  all  out  at 
one  bang  you’ll  be  done  at  the  start.” 

Shovel  sighed. 

“And  you  should  blubber  when  yer  says  it,”  added 
Tommy,  who  could  laugh  or  cry  merely  because  other 
people  were  laughing  or  crying,  or  even  with  less  reason, 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


87 


and  so  naturally  that  he  found  it  more  difficult  to  stop 
than  to  begin.  Shovel  was  the  taller  by  half  a head, 
and  irresistible  with  his  fists,  but  to-night  Tommy  was 
master. 

“ You  jest  stick  to  me,  Shovel,”  he  said  airily.  “ Keep 
a grip  on  my  hand,  same  as  if  yer  was  Elspeth.” 

“ But  what  was  we  copped  for,  Tommy  ? ” entreated 
humble  Shovel. 

Tommy  asked  him  if  he  knew  what  a butler  was,  and 
Shovel  remembered,  confusedly,  that  there  had  been  a 
portrait  of  a butler  in  his  father’s  news-sheet. 

“Well,  then,”  said  Tommy,  inspired  by  this  same 
source,  “ there ’s  a room  a butler  has,  and  it  is  a pantry, 
so  you  and  me  we  crawled  through  the  winder  and  we 
opened  the  door  to  the  gang.  You  and  me  was  copped. 
They  catched  you  below  the  table  and  me  stabbing  the 
butler.” 

“It  was  me  what  stabbed  the  butler,”  Shovel  inter- 
posed, jealously. 

u How  could  you  do  it,  Shovel  ? ” 

“ With  a knife,  I tell  yer  ! ” 

“Why,  you  didn’t  have  no  knife,”  said  Tommy, 
impatiently. 

This  crushed  Shovel,  but  he  growled  sulkily : 

“ Well,  I bit  him  in  the  leg.” 

“ Not  you,”  said  selfish  Tommy.  “ You  forgets  about 
repenting,  and  if  I let  yer  bite  him,  you  would  brag 
about  it.  It ’s  safer  without,  Shovel.” 


88 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Perhaps  it  was.  “ How  long  did  I get  in  quod,  then. 
Tommy  ? ” 

“ Fourteen  days.” 

“ So  did  you  ? ” Shovel  said,  with  quick  anxiety. 

“I  got  a month,”  replied  Tommy,  firmly. 

Shovel  roared  a word  that  would  never  have  admitted 
him  to  the  hall.  Then,  “ I ’m  as  game  as  you,  and 
gamer,”  he  whined. 

“But  IJm  better  at  repenting.  I tell  yer,  I’ll  cry 
when  I ’m  repenting.”  Tommy’s  face  lit  up,  and  Shovel 
could  not  help  saying,  with  a curious  look  at  it : 

“You  — you  ain’t  like  any  other  cove  I knows,”  to 
which  Tommy  replied,  also  in  an  awestruck  voice : 

“I’m  so  queer,  Shovel,  that  when  I thinks  ’bout 
myself  I’m  — I’m  sometimes  near  feared.” 

“ What  makes  your  face  for  to  shine  like  that  ? Is  it 
thinking  about  the  blow-out  ? ” 

No,  it  was  hardly  that,  but  Tommy  could  not  tell 
what  it  was.  He  and  the  saying  about  art  for  art’s  sake 
were  in  the  streets  that  night,  looking  for  each  other. 

The  splendor  of  the  brightly  lighted  hall,  which  was 
situated  in  one  of  the  meanest  streets  of  perhaps  the 
most  densely  populated  quarter  in  London,  broke  upon 
the  two  boys  suddenly  and  hit  each  in  his  vital  part, 
tapping  an  invitation  on  Tommy’s  brain-pan  and  taking 
Shovel  coquettishly  in  the  stomach.  Now  was  the 
moment  when  Shovel  meant  to  strip  Tommy  of  the  ticket, 
but  the  spectacle  in  front  dazed  him,  and  he  stopped  to 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHEKS 


89 


tell  a vegetable  barrow  how  he  loved  his  dear  father  and 
his  dear  mother,  and  all  the  dear  kids  at  home.  Then 
Tommy  darted  forward  and  was  immediately  lost  in  the 
crowd  surging  round  the  steps  of  the  hall. 

Several  gentlemen  in  evening  dress  stood  framed  in 
the  lighted  doorway,  shouting:  “Have  your  tickets  in 
your  hands  and  give  them  up  as  you  pass  in.”  They 
were  fine  fellows,  helping  in  a splendid  work,  and  their 
society  did  much  good,  though  it  was  not  so  well  organ- 
ized as  others  that  have  followed  in  its  steps ; but  Shovel, 
you  may  believe,  was  in  no  mood  to  attend  to  them.  He 
had  but  one  thought : that  the  traitor  Tommy  was  doubt- 
less at  that  moment  boring  his  way  toward  them,  under- 
ground, as  it  were,  and  “ holding  his  ticket  in  his  hand.” 
Shovel  dived  into  the  rabble  and  was  flung  back  upside 
down.  Falling  with  his  arms  round  a full-grown  man, 
he  immediately  ran  up  him  as  if  he  had  been  a lamp- 
post,  and  was  aloft  just  sufficiently  long  to  see  Tommy 
give  up  the  ticket  and  saunter  into  the  hall. 

The  crowd  tried  at  intervals  to  rush  the  door.  It  was 
mainly  composed  of  ragged  boys,  but  here  and  there  were 
men,  women,  and  girls,  who  came  into  view  for  a moment 
under  the  lights  as  the  mob  heaved  and  went  round  and 
round  like  a boiling  potful.  Two  policemen  joined  the 
ticket-collectors,  and  though  it  was  a good-humored 
gathering,  the  air  was  thick  with  such  cries  as  these : 

“ I lorst  my  ticket,  ain’t  I telling  yer  ? Gar  on,  guv*- 
nor,  lemme  in ! ” 


90 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Oh,  crumpets,  look  at  Jimmy ! Jimmy  never  done 
nothink,  your  honor;  he’s  a himposter.” 

“ I ’m  the  boy  what  kicked  the  peeler.  Hie,  you  toff 
with  the  choker,  ain’t  I to  step  up  ?” 

“Tell  yer,  I ’m  a genooine  criminal,  I am.  If  yer 
don’t  lemme  in  I’ll  have  the  lawr  on  you.” 

“ Let  a poor  cove  in  as  his  father  drownded  hisself 
for  his  country.” 

“ What  air  yer  torking  about  ? War  n’t  I in  larst  year, 
and  the  cuss  as  runs  the  show,  he  says  to  me,  i Allers 
welcome,’  he  says.  None  on  your  sarse,  Bobby.  I 

demands  to  see  the  cuss  what  runs ” 

“Jest  keeping  on  me  out  ’cos  I ain’t  done  nothin’. 
Ho,  this  is  a encouragement  to  honesty,  I don’t  think.” 
Mighty  in  tongue  and  knee  and  elbow  was  an  un- 
known knight,  ever  conspicuous ; it  might  be  but  by  a 
leg  waving  for  one  brief  moment  in  the  air.  He  did  not 
want  to  go  in,  would  not  go  in  though  they  went  on  their 
blooming  knees  to  him ; he  was  after  a viper  of  the  name 
of  Tommy.  Half  an  hour  had  not  tired  him,  and  he 
was  leading  another  assault,  when  a magnificent  lady, 
such  as  you  see  in  wax-works,  appeared  in  the  vestibule 
and  made  some  remark  to  a policeman,  who  then 
shouted : 

“ If  so  there  be  hany  lad  here  called  Shovel,  he  can 
step  forrard.” 

A dozen  lads  stepped  forward  at  once,  but  a flail  drove 
them  right  and  left,  and  the  unknown  knight  had  mounted 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHEKS. 


91 


the  parapet  amid  a shower  of  execrations.  “ If  you  are 
the  real  Shovel/’  the  lady  said  to  him,  “you  can  tell  me 
how  this  proceeds,  € I love  my  dear  father  and  my  dear 
mother ’ Go  on.” 

Shovel  obeyed,  tremblingly.  “ And  all  the  dear  little 
kids  at  ’ome.  You  are  a kind  laidy  or  gentleman.  I 
love  yer.  I will  never  do  it  again,  so  help  me  bob. 
Amen.” 

“Charming!”  chirped  the  lady,  and  down  pleasant- 
smelling aisles  she  led  him,  pausing  to  drop  an  observa- 
tion about  Tommy  to  a clergyman : “ So  glad  I came ; I 
have  discovered  the  most  delightful  little  monster  called 
Tommy.”  The  clergyman  looked  after  her  half  in  sad- 
ness, half  sarcastically;  he  was  thinking  that  he  had 
discovered  a monster  also. 

At  present  the  body  of  the  hall  was  empty,  but  its 
sides  were  lively  with  gorging  boys,  among  whom  ladies 
moved,  carrying  platefuls  of  good  things.  Most  of  them 
were  sweet  women,  fighting  bravely  for  these  boys,  and 
not  at  all  like  Shovel’s  patroness,  who  had  come  for  a 
sensation.  Tommy  falling  into  her  hands,  she  got  it. 

Tommy,  who  had  a corner  to  himself,  was  lolling  in 
it  like  a little  king,  and  he  not  only  ordered  roast-beef 
for  the  awe-struck  Shovel,  but  sent  the  lady  back  for 
salt.  Then  he  whispered,  exultantly:  “Quick,  Shovel, 
feel  my  pocket  ” (it  bulged  with  two  oranges),  “ now  the 
inside  pocket”  (plum-duff),  “now  my  waistcoat  pocket” 
(threepence)  ; “ look  in  my  mouth  ” (chocolates). 


92 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


When  Shovel  found  speech  he  began  excitedly:  "I 

love  my  dear  father  and  my  dear ” 

“Gach!”  said  Tommy,  interrupting  him  contemptu- 
ously. “ Kepenting  ain’t  no  go,  Shovel.  Look  at  them 
other  coves ; none  of  them  has  got  no  money,  nor  full 
pockets,  and  I tell  you,  it ’s  ’cos  they  has  repented.” 

" Gar  on  ! ” 

“ It ’s  true,  I tells  you.  That  lady  as  is  my  one,  she ’s 
called  her  ladyship,  and  she  don’t  care  a cuss  for  boys  as 
has  repented,”  which  of  course  was  a libel,  her  ladyship 
being  celebrated  wherever  paragraphs  penetrate  for  hav- 
ing knitted  a pair  of  stockings  for  the  deserving  poor. 

“When  I saw  that,”  Tommy  continued,  brazenly,  “I 
bragged  ’stead  of  repenting,  and  the  wuss  I says  I am, 
she  jest  says,  4 You  little  monster,’  and  gives  me  another 
orange.” 

“Then  I’m  done  for,”  Shovel  moaned,  44 for  I rolled 
off  that  ’bout  loving  my  dear  father  and  my  dear  mother, 
blast  ’em,  soon  as  I seen  her.” 

He  need  not  let  that  depress  him.  Tommy  had  told 
her  he  would  say  it,  but  that  it  was  all  flam. 

Shovel  thought  the  ideal  arrangement  would  be  for 
him  to  eat  and  leave  the  torking  to  Tommy.  Tommy 
nodded.  “ I ’m  full,  at  any  rate,”  he  said,  struggling 
with  his  waistcoat.  “ Oh,  Shovel,  I am  full ! ” 

Her  ladyship  returned,  and  the  boys  held  by  their  con- 
tract, but  of  the  dark  character  Tommy  seems  to  have 
been,  let  not  these  pages  bear  the  record.  Do  you  won 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


93 


der  that  her  ladyship  believed  him  ? On  this  point  we 
must  fight  for  our  Tommy.  You  would  have  believed 
him.  Even  Shovel,  who  knew,  between  the  bites,  that 
it  was  all  whoppers,  listened  as  to  his  father  reading 
aloud.  This  was  because  another  boy  present  half 
believed  it  for  the  moment  also.  When  he  described 
the  eerie  darkness  of  the  butler’s  pantry,  he  shivered 
involuntarily,  and  he  shut  his  eyes  once  — ugh! — that 
was  because  he  saw  the  blood  spouting  out  of  the  butler. 
He  was  turning  up  his  trousers  to  show  the  mark  of  the 
butler’s  boot  on  his  leg  when  the  lady  was  called  away, 
and  then  Shovel  shook  him,  saying:  “Darn  yer,  does  n’t 
yer  know  as  it ’s  all  your  eye  ? ” which  brought  Tommy 
to  his  senses  with  a jerk. 

“ Sure ’s  death,  Shovel,”  he  whispered,  in  awe,  “ I was 
thinking  I done  it,  every  bit ! ” 

Had  her  ladyship  come  back  she  would  have  found 
him  a different  boy.  He  remembered  now  that  Elspeth, 
for  whom  he  had  filled  his  pockets,  was  praying  for  him ; 
he  could  see  her  on  her  knees,  saying,  “ Oh,  God,  I ’se 
praying  for  Tommy,”  and  remorse  took  hold  of  him  and 
shook  him  on  his  seat.  He  broke  into  one  hysterical 
laugh  and  then  immediately  began  to  sob.  This  was  the 
moment  when  Shovel  should  have  got  him  quietly  out 
of  the  hall. 

Members  of  the  society  discussing  him  afterwards  with 
bated  breath  said  that  never  till  they  died  could  they 
forget  her  ladyship’s  face  while  he  did  it.  a But  did 


94 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY. 


you  notice  the  boy’s  own  face?  It  was  positively  an« 
gelic.:*  “Angelic,  indeed;  the  little  horror  was  intoxi- 
cated.” No,  there  was  a doctor  present,  and  according 
to  him  it  was  the  meal  that  had  gone  to  the  boy’s  head  ; 
he  looked  half  starved.  As  for  the  clergyman,  he  only 
said : “We  shall  lose  her  subscription;  I am  glad  of  it.” 

Yes,  Tommy  was  intoxicated,  but  with  a beverage  not 
recognized  by  the  faculty.  What  happened  was  this: 
Supper  being  finished,  the  time  had  come  for  what  Shovel 
called  the  jawing,  and  the  boys  were  now  mustered  in 
the  body  of  the  hall.  The  limited  audience  had  gone 
to  the  gallery,  and  unluckily  all  eyes  except  Shovel’s 
were  turned  to  the  platform.  Shovel  was  apprehensive 
about  Tommy,  who  was  not  exactly  sobbing  now ; but 
strange,  uncontrollable  sounds  not  unlike  the  winding 
up  of  a clock  proceeded  from  his  throat ; his  face  had 
flushed;  there  was  a purposeful  look  in  his  usually 
unreadable  eye ; his  fingers  were  fidgeting  on  the  board 
in  front  of  him,  and  he  seemed  to  keep  his  seat  with 
difficulty. 

The  personage  who  was  to  address  the  boys  sat  on  the 
platform  with  clergymen,  members  of  committee,  and 
some  ladies,  one  of  them  Tommy’s  patroness.  Her  lady- 
ship saw  Tommy  and  smiled  to  him,  but  obtained  no 
response.  She  had  taken  a front  seat,  a choice  that 
ehe  must  have  regretted  presently. 

The  chairman  rose  and  announced  that  the  Rev.  Mr. 
*•—  would  open  the  proceedings  with  prayer.  The  Rev. 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


95 


Mr. rose  to  pray  in  a loud  voice  for  the  waifs  in  the 

body  of  the  hall.  At  the  same  moment  rose  Tommy, 
and  began  to  pray  in  a squeaky  voice  for  the  people  on 
the  platform. 

He  had  many  Biblical  phrases,  mostly  picked  up  in 
Thrums  Street,  and  what  he  said  was  distinctly  heard 
in  the  stillness,  the  clergyman  being  suddenly  bereft  of 
speech.  " Oh,”  he  cried,  " look  down  on  them  ones 
there,  for,  oh,  they  are  unworthy  of  Thy  mercy,  and,  oh, 
the  worst  sinner  is  her  ladyship,  her  sitting  there  so 
brazen  in  the  black  frock  with  yellow  stripes,  and  the 
worse  I said  I were  the  better  pleased  were  she.  Oh, 
make  her  think  shame  for  tempting  of  a poor  boy,  for 
getting  suffer  little  children,  oh,  why  cumbereth  she  the 
ground,  oh ” 

He  was  in  full  swing  before  any  one  could  act. 
Shovel  having  failed  to  hold  him  in  his  seat,  had 
done  what  was  perhaps  the  next  best  thing,  got  be- 
neath it  himself.  The  arm  of  the  petrified  clergyman 
was  still  extended,  as  if  blessing  his  brother’s  remarks ; 
the  chairman  seemed  to  be  trying  to  fling  his  right  hand 
at  the  culprit;  but  her  ladyship,  after  the  first  stab, 
never  moved  a muscle.  Thus  for  nearly  half  a minute, 
when  the  officials  woke  up,  and  squeezing  past  many 
knees,  seized  Tommy  by  the  neck  and  ran  him  out  of  the 
building.  All  down  the  aisle  he  prayed  hysterically, 
and  for  some  time  afterwards,  to  Shovel,  who  had  been 
cast  forth  along  with  him. 


96 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


At  an  hour  of  that  night  when  their  mother  was 
asleep,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  they  were  the  only  two 
children  awake  in  London,  Tommy  sat  up  softly  in  the 
wardrobe  to  discover  whether  Elspeth  was  still  praying 
for  him.  He  knew  that  she  was  on  the  floor  in  a night- 
gown some  twelve  sizes  too  large  for  her,  but  the  room  was 
as  silent  and  black  as  the  world  he  had  just  left  by  taking 
his  fingers  from  his  ears  and  the  blankets  off  his  face. 

"I  see  you,”  he  said  mendaciously,  and  in  a guarded 
voice,  so  as  not  to  waken  his  mother,  from  whom  he  had 
kept  his  escapade.  This  had  not  the  desired  effect  of 
drawing  a reply  from  Elspeth,  and  he  tried  bluster. 

“You  needna  think  as  I’ll  repent,  you  brat,  so  there! 
What? 

“ I wish  I hadna  told  you  about  it ! 99  Indeed,  he  had 
endeavored  not  to  do  so,  but  pride  in  his  achievement 
had  eventually  conquered  prudence. 

“ Reddy  would  have  laughed,  she  would,  and  said  as  1 
was  a wonder.  Reddy  was  the  kind  I like.  What  ? 

“You  ate  up  the  oranges  quick,  and  the  plum-duff 
too,  so  you  should  pray  for  yoursel’  as  well  as  for  me. 
It ’s  easy  to  say  as  you  didna  know  how  I got  them  till 
after  you  eated  them,  but  you  should  have  found  out. 
What? 

“ Do  you  think  it  was  for  my  own  self  as  I done  it  ? 
I jest  done  it  to  get  the  oranges  and  plum-duff  to  you, 
I did,  and  the  threepence  too.  Eh  ? Speak,  you  little 
besom. 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


97 


“I  tell  you  as  I did  repent  in  the  hall.  I was  greet- 
ing,  and  I never  knowed  I put  up  that  prayer  till  Shovel 
told  me  on  it.  We  was  sitting  in  the  street  by  that 
time.” 

This  was  true.  On  leaving  the  hall  Tommy  had  soon 
dropped  to  the  cold  ground  and  squatted  there  till  he 
came  to,  when  he  remembered  nothing  of  what  had  led 
to  his  expulsion.  Like  a stream  that  has  run  into  a 
pond  and  only  finds  itself  again  when  it  gets  out,  he 
was  but  a continuation  of  the  boy  who  when  last  com 
scious  of  himself  was  in  the  corner  crying  remorsefully 
over  his  misdeed ; and  in  this  humility  he  would  have 
returned  to  Elspeth  had  no  one  told  him  of  his  prayer. 
Shovel,  however,  was  at  hand,  not  only  to  tell  him  all 
about  it,  but  to  applaud,  and  home  strutted  Tommy 
chuckling. 

“I  am  sleeping,”  he  next  said  to  Elspeth,  “so  you 
may  as  well  come  to  your  bed.” 

He  imitated  the  breathing  of  a sleeper,  but  it  was 
the  only  sound  to  be  heard  in  London,  and  he  desisted 
fearfully.  “Come  away,  Elspeth,”  he  said,  coaxingly, 
for  he  was  very  fond  of  her  and  could  not  sleep  while 
she  was  cold  and  miserable. 

Still  getting  no  response  he  pulled  his  body  inch  by 
inch  out  of  the  bedclothes,  and  holding  his  breath, 
found  the  floor  with  his  feet  stealthily,  as  if  to  cheat 
the  wardrobe  into  thinking  that  he  was  still  in  it.  But 
his  reason  was  to  discover  whether  Elspeth  had  fallen 

7 


98 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


asleep  on  her  knees  without  her  learning  that  he  cared 
to  know.  Almost  noiselessly  he  worked  himself  along 
the  floor,  but  when  he  stopped  to  bring  his  face  nearer 
hers,  there  was  such  a creaking  of  his  joints  that  if 
Elspeth  did  not  hear  it  she  — she  must  be  dead ! His 
knees  played  whack  on  the  floor. 

Elspeth  only  gasped  once,  but  he  heard,  and  remained 
beside  her  for  a minute,  so  that  she  might  hug  him  if 
such  was  her  desire;  and  she  put  out  her  hand  in  the 
darkness  so  that  his  should  not  have  far  to  travel  alone 
if  it  chanced  to  be  on  the  way  to  her.  Thus  they  sat  on 
their  knees,  each  aghast  at  the  hard-heartedness  of  the 
other. 

Tommy  put  the  blankets  over  the  kneeling  figure, 
and  presently  announced  from  the  wardrobe  that  if  he 
died  of  cold  before  repenting  the  blame  of  keeping  him 
out  of  heaven  would  be  Elspeth’s.  But  the  last  word 
was  muffled,  for  the  blankets  were  tucked  about  him 
as  he  spoke,  and  two  motherly  little  arms  gave  him 
the  embrace  they  wanted  to  withhold.  Foiled  again, 
he  kicked  off  the  bedclothes  and  said:  “I  tell  yer  I 
wants  to  die!” 

This  terrified  both  of  them,  and  he  added,  quickly : 

“Oh,  God,  if  I was  sure  I were  to  die  to-night  I 
would  repent  at  once.”  It  is  the  commonest  prayer 
in  all  languages,  but  down  on  her  knees  slipped  Elspeth 
again,  and  Tommy,  who  felt  that  it  had  done  him  good, 
said  indignantly : “ Surely  that  is  religion.  What  ? ” 


THE  BOY  WITH  TWO  MOTHERS 


He  lay  on  his  face  until  he  was  frightened  by  a noise 
louder  than  thunder  in  the  daytime  — the  scraping  of 
his  eyelashes  on  the  pillow.  Then  he  sat  up  in  the 
wardrobe  and  fired  his  three  last  shots. 

“Elspeth  Sandys,  Pin  done  with  yer  forever,  I am. 
I ’ll  take  care  on  yer,  but  I ’ll  never  kiss  yer  no  more. 

“ When  yer  boasts  as  I ’m  your  brother  I ’ll  say  you 
ain’t.  I ’ll  tell  my  mother  about  Reddy  the  morn,  and 
syne  she  ’ll  put  you  to  the  door  smart. 

“When  you  are  a grown  woman  I’ll  buy  a house 
to  yer,  but  you  ’ll  have  jest  to  bide  in  it  by  your 
lonely  self,  and  I ’ll  come  once  a year  to  speir  how 
you  are,  but  I won’t  come  in,  I won’t  — I’ll  jest  cry 
up  the  stair.” 

The  effect  of  this  was  even  greater  than  he  had  ex- 
pected, for  now  two  were  in  tears  instead  of  one,  and 
Tommy’s  grief  was  the  more  heartrending,  he  was  so  much 
better  at  everything  than  Elspeth.  He  jumped  out  of  the 
wardrobe  and  ran  to  her,  calling  her  name,  and  he  put 
his  arms  round  her  cold  body,  and  the  dear  mite,  for- 
getting how  cruelly  he  had  used  her,  cried,  “ Oh,  tighter, 
Tommy,  tighter ; you  did  n’t  not  mean  it,  did  yer  ? Oh, 
you  is  terrible  fond  on  me,  ain’t  yer  ? And  you  won’t 
not  tell  my  mother  ’bout  Reddy,  will  yer,  and  you  is  no 
done  wi’  me  forever,  is  yer  ? and  you  won’t  not  put  me 
in  a house  by  myself,  will  yer?  Oh,  Tommy,  is  that  the 
tightest  you  can  do  ? ” 

And  Tommy  made  it  tighter,  vowing,  “I  never  meant 


100 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


it;  I was  a bad  un  to  say  it  If  Reddy  were  to  come 
back  wanting  for  to  squeeze  you  out,  I would  send  her 
packing  quick,  I would.  I tell  yer  what,  I ’ll  kiss  you 
with  folk  looking  on,  I will,  and  no  be  ashamed  to  do  it, 
and  if  Shovel  is  one  of  them  what  sees  me,  and  he  puts 
his  finger  to  his  nose,  I’ll  blood  the  mouth  of  him,  I 
will,  dagont!” 

Then  he  prayed  for  forgiveness,  and  he  could  always 
pray  more  beautifully  than  Elspeth.  Even  she  was  sat- 
isfied with  the  way  he  did  it,  and  so,  alack,  was  he. 

“ But  you  forgot  to  tell,”  she  said  fondly,  when  once 
more  they  were  in  the  wardrobe  together  — “you  forgot 
to  tell  as  you  filled  your  pockets  wif  things  to  me.” 

“I  didn’t  forget,”  Tommy  replied  modestly.  “I 
missed  it  out  on  purpose,  I did,  ’cos  I was  sure  God 
knows  on  it  without  my  telling  him,  and  I thought  he 
would  be  pleased  if  I did  n’t  let  on  as  I knowed  it  was 
good  of  me.” 

“Oh,  Tommy,”  cried  Elspeth,  worshipping  him,  “I 
couldn’t  have  doned  that,  I couldn’t!”  She  was 
barely  six,  and  easily  taken  in,  but  she  would  save 
him  from  himself  if  she  could.. 


CHAPTER  IX 


AULD  LANG  SYNE 

What  to  do  with  her  ladyship’s  threepence  ? Tommy 
finally  decided  to  drop  it  into  the  charity -box  that  had 
once  contained  his  penny.  They  held  it  over  the  slit 
together,  Elspeth  almost  in  tears  because  it  was  such  a 
large  sum  to  give  away,  but  Tommy  looking  noble  he 
was  so  proud  of  himself ; and  when  he  said  “ Three ! ” 
they  let  go. 

There  followed  days  of  excitement  centred  round  their 
money-box.  Shovel  introduced  Tommy  to  a boy  what 
said  as  after  a bit  you  forget  how  much  money  was  in 
your  box,  and  then  when  you  opened  it,  oh,  Lor* ! there 
is  more  than  you  thought,  so  he  and  Elspeth  gave  this 
plan  a week’s  trial,  affecting  not  to  know  how  much  they 
had  gathered,  but  when  they  unlocked  it,  the  sum  was 
still  only  eightpence;  so  then  Tommy  told  the  liar  to 
come  on,  and  they  fought  while  the  horrified  Elspeth 
prayed,  and  Tommy  licked  him,  a result  due  to  one  of 
the  famous  Thrums  left-handers  then  on  exhibition  in 
that  street  for  the  first  time,  as  taught  the  victor  by 
Petey  Whamond  the  younger,  late  of  Tillyloss. 


102 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


The  money  did  come  in,  once  in  spate  (twopence  from 
Bob  in  twenty -four  hours),  but  usually  so  slowly  that 
they  saw  it  resting  on  the  way,  and  then,  when  they 
listened  intently,  they  could  hear  the  thud  of  Hog- 
manay. The  last  halfpenny  was  a special  aggravation, 
strolling  about,  just  out  of  reach,  with  all  the  swagger 
of  sixpence,  but  at  last  Elspeth  had  it,  and  after  that, 
the  sooner  Hogmanay  came  the  better. 

They  concealed  their  excitement  under  too  many 
wrappings,  but  their  mother  suspected  nothing.  When 
she  was  dressing  on  the  morning  of  Hogmanay,  her 
stockings  happened  to  be  at  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
and  they  were  such  a long  way  off  that  she  rested  on 
the  way  to  them.  At  the  meagre  breakfast  she  said 
what  a heavy  teapot  that  was,  and  Tommy  thought  this 
funny,  but  the  salt  had  gone  from  the  joke  when  he 
remembered  it  afterwards.  And  when  she  was  ready  to 
go  off  to  her  work  she  hesitated  at  the  door,  looking  at 
her  bed  and  from  it  to  her  children  as  if  in  two  minds, 
and  then  went  quietly  downstairs. 

The  distance  seems  greater  than  ever  to-day,  poor 
woman,  and  you  stop  longer  at  the  corners,  where  rude 
men  jeer  at  you.  Scarcely  can  you  push  open  the  door 
of  the  dancing-school  or  lift  the  pail;  the  fire  has  gone 
out,  you  must  again  go  on  your  knees  before  it,  and 
again  the  smoke  makes  you  cough.  Gaunt  slattern, 
fighting  to  bring  up  the  phlegm,  was  it  really  you  for 
whom  another  woman  gave  her  life,  and  thought  it  a 


ATTLD  LANG  SYNE 


103 


rich  reward  to  get  dressing  you  once  in  your  long 
clothes,  when  she  called  you  her  beautiful,  and  smiled, 
and  smiling,  died?  Well,  well;  but  take  courage, 
Jean  Myles.  The  long  road  still  lies  straight  up  hill, 
but  your  climbing  is  near  an  end.  Shrink  from  the 
rude  men  no  more,  they  are  soon  to  forget  you,  so  soon! 
It  is  a heavy  door,  but  soon  you  will  have  pushed  it 
open  for  the  last  time.  The  girls  will  babble  still,  but 
not  to  you,  not  of  you.  Cheer  up,  the  work  is  nearly 
done.  Her  beautiful ! Come,  beautiful,  strength  for  a 
few  more  days,  and  then  you  can  leave  the  key  of  the 
leaden  door  behind  you,  and  on  your  way  home  you 
may  kiss  your  hand  joyously  to  the  weary  streets,  for 
you  are  going  to  die. 

Tommy  and  Elspeth  had  been  to  the  foot  of  the  stair 
many  times  to  look  for  her  before  their  mother  came 
back  that  evening,  yet  when  she  re-entered  her  home, 
behold,  they  were  sitting  calmly  on  the  fender  as  if  this 
were  a day  like  yesterday  or  to-morrow,  as  if  Tommy 
had  not  been  on  a business  visit  to  Thrums  Street,  as  if 
the  hump  on  the  bed  did  not  mean  that  a glorious  some- 
thing was  hidden  under  the  coverlet.  True,  Elspeth 
would  look  at  Tommy  imploringly  every  few  minutes, 
meaning  that  she  could  not  keep  it  in  much  longer,  and 
then  Tommy  would  mutter  the  one  word  “Bell”  to 
remind  her  that  it  was  against  the  rules  to  begin  before 
the  Thrums  eight-o'clock  bell  rang.  They  also  wiled 
away  the  time  of  waiting  by  inviting  each  other  to 


104 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


conferences  at  the  window  where  these  whispers 
passed  — 

“She  ain’t  got  a notion,  Tommy.” 

“Dinna  look  so  often  at  the  bed.” 

“If  I could  jest  get  one  more  peep  at  it!  ” 

“No,  no;  but  you  can  put  your  hand  on  the  top  of  it 
as  you  go  by.” 

The  artfulness  of  Tommy  lured  his  unsuspecting 
mother  into  telling  how  they  would  be  holding  Hog- 
manay in  Thrums  to-night,  how  cartloads  of  kebbock 
cheeses  had  been  rolling  into  the  town  all  the  livelong 
day  (“  Do  you  hear  them,  Elspeth  ? ”),  and  in  dark 
closes  the  children  were  already  gathering,  with  smeared 
faces  and  in  eccentric  dress,  to  sally  forth  as  guisers 
at  the  clap  of  eight,  when  the  ringing  of  a bell 
lets  Hogmanay  loose.  (“  You  see,  Elspeth  ? ”)  Inside 
the  houses  men  and  women  were  preparing  (though 
not  by  fasting,  which  would  have  been  such  a good  way 
that  it  is  surprising  no  one  ever  thought  of  it)  for  a 
series  ofr  visits,  at  every  one  of  which  they  would  be 
offered  a dram  and  kebbock  and  bannock,  and  in  the 
grander  houses  “bridies,”  which  are  a sublime  kind  of 
pie. 

Tommy  had  the  audacity  to  ask  what  bridies  were 
like.  And  he  could  not  dress  up  and  be  a guiser,  could 
he,  mother,  for  the  guisers  sang  a song,  and  he  did  not 
know  the  words  ? What  a pity  they  could  not  get 
bridies  to  buy  in  London,  and  learn  the  song  and  sing 


AULD  LANG  SYNE 


105 


it.  But  of  course  they  could  not!  (“Elspeth,  if  you 
tumble  off  the  fender  again,  she  ’ll  guess.”) 

Such  is  a sample  of  Tommy,  but  Elspeth  was  sly 
also,  if  in  a smaller  way,  and  it  was  she  who  said: 
“ There  ain’t  nothin’  in  the  bed,  is  there,  Tommy!” 
This  duplicity  made  her  uneasy,  and  she  added,  behind 
her  teeth,  “ Maybe  there  is,”  and  then,  uO  God,  I 
knows  as  there  is.” 

But  as  the  great  moment  drew  near  there  were  no 
more  questions ; two  children  were  staring  at  the  clock 
and  listening  intently  for  the  peal  of  a bell  nearly  five 
hundred  miles  away. 

The  clock  struck.  “Whisht!  It’s  time,  Elspeth! 
They ’ve  begun ! Come  on ! ” 

A few  minutes  afterwards  Mrs.  Sandys  was  roused  by 
a knock  at  the  door,  followed  by  the  entrance  of  two 
mysterious  figures.  The  female  wore  a boy’s  jacket 
turned  outside  in,  the  male  a woman’s  bonnet  and  a 
shawl,  and  to  make  his  disguise  the  more  impenetrable 
he  carried  a poker  in  his  right  hand.  They  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor  and  began  to  recite,  rather 
tremulously, 

Get  up,  good  wife,  and  binna  sweir. 

And  deal  your  bread  to  them  that  \s  here. 

For  the  time  will  come  when  you  ’ll  be  dead, 

And  then  you  ’ll  need  neither  ale  nor  bread. 

Mrs.  Sandys  had  started,  and  then  turned  piteously 
from  them;  but  when  they  were  done  she  tried  to 


106 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


smile,  and  said,  with  forced  gayetj^,  that  she  saw  they 
were  guisers,  and  it  was  a fine  night,  and  would  they 
take  a chair.  The  male  stranger  did  so  at  once,  but  the 
female  said,  rather  anxiously:  “You  are  sure  as  you 
don’t  know  who  we  is?”  Their  hostess  shook  her 
head,  and  then  he  of  the  poker  offered  her  three 
guesses,  a daring  thing  to  do,  but  all  went  well,  for  her 
first  guess  was  Shovel  and  his  old  girl;  second  guess, 
Before  and  After;  third  guess,  Napoleon  Buonaparte 
and  the  Auld  Licht  minister.  At  each  guess  the 
smaller  of  the  intruders  clapped  her  hands  gleefully, 
but  when,  with  the  third,  she  was  unmuzzled,  she 
putted  with  her  head  at  Mrs.  Sandys  and  hugged  her, 
screaming,  “It  ain’t  none  on  them;  it’s  jest  me, 
mother,  it ’s  Elspeth!  ” and  even  while  their  astounded 
hostess  was  asking  could  it  be  true,  the  male  conspirator 
dropped  his  poker  noisily  (to  draw  attention  to  him- 
self) and  stood  revealed  as  Thomas  Sandys. 

Was  n’t  it  just  like  Thrums,  was  n’t  it  just  the  very, 
very  same  ? Ah,  it  was  wonderful,  their  mother  said, 
but,  alas,  there  was  one  thing  wanting:  she  had  no 
Hogmanay  to  give  the  guisers. 

Had  she  not  ? What  a pity,  Elspeth ! What  a pity, 
Tommy!  What  might  that  be  in  the  bed,  Elspeth? 
It  couldn’t  not  be  their  Hogmanay,  could  it,  Tommy  ? 
If  Tommy  was  his  mother  he  would  look  and  see.  If 
Elspeth  was  her  mother  she  would  look  and  see. 

Her  curiosity  thus  cunningly  aroused,  Mrs.  Sandys 


AULD  LANG  SYNE 


107 


raised  the  coverlet  of  the  bed  and  — there  were  three 
bridies,  an  oatmeal  cake,  and  a hunk  of  kebbock. 
“ And  they  corned  from  Thrums ! ” cried  Elspeth,  while 
Tommy  cried,  “Petey  and  the  others  got  a lot  sent 
from  Thrums,  and  I bought  the  bridies  from  them, 
and  they  gave  me  the  bannock  and  the  kebbock  for 
nuthin’ ! ” Their  mother  did  not  utter  the  cry  of 
rapture  which  Tommy  expected  so  confidently  that  he 
could  have  done  it  for  her ; instead,  she  pulled  her  two 
children  toward  her,  and  the  great  moment  was  like  to 
be  a tearful  rather  than  an  ecstatic  one,  for  Elspeth  had 
begun  to  whimper,  and  even  Tommy  — but  by  a supreme 
effort  he  shouldered  reality  to  the  door. 

“Is  this  my  Hogmanay,  guidwife  ?”  he  asked  in  the 
nick  of  time,  and  the  situation  thus  being  saved,  the 
luscious  feast  was  partaken  of,  the  guisers  listening 
solemnly  as  each  bite  went  down.  They  also  took  care 
to  address  their  hostess  as  “guidwife”  or  “mistress,” 
affecting  not  to  have  met  her  lately,  and  inquiring 
genially  after  the  health  of  herself  and  family.  “ How 
many  have  you?”  was  Tommy’s  masterpiece,  and  she 
answered  in  the  proper  spirit,  but  all  the  time  she  was 
hiding  great  part  of  her  bridie  beneath  her  apron, 
Hogmanay  having  come  too  late  for  her. 

Everything  was  to  be  done  exactly  as  they  were 
doing  it  in  Thrums  Street,  and  so  presently  Tommy 
made  a speech;  it  was  the  speech  of  old  Petey,  who 
had  rehearsed  it  several  times  before  him.  “ Here ’s  a 


108 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


toast/’  said  Tommy,  standing  up  and  waving  his  arms, 
“here’s  a toast  that  we’ll  drink  in  silence,  one  that 
maun  have  sad  thoughts  at  the  back  o’t  to  some  of  us, 
but  one,  my  friends,  that  keeps  the  hearts  of  Thrums 
folk  green  and  ties  us  all  thegither,  like  as  it  were  wi’ 
twine.  It ’s  to  all  them,  wherever  they  may  be  the 
night,  wha’  have  sat  as  lads  and  lasses  at  the  Cuttle 
Well.” 

To  one  of  the  listeners  it  was  such  an  unexpected 
ending  that  a faint  cry  broke  from  her,  which  startled 
the  children,  and  they  sat  in  silence  looking  at  her. 
She  had  turned  her  face  from  them,  but  her  arm  was 
extended  as  if  entreating  Tommy  to  stop. 

“That  was  the  end,”  he  said,  at  length,  in  a tone  of 
expostulation;  “it’s  auld  Petey’s  speech.” 

“Are  you  sure,”  his  mother  asked  wistfully,  “that 
Petey  was  to  say  all  them  as  have  sat  at  the  Cuttle 
Well?  He  made  no  exception,  did  he?”  * 

Tommy  did  not  know  what  exception  was,  but  he 
assured  her  that  he  had  repeated  the  speech,  word  for 
word.  For  the  remainder  of  the  evening  she  sat  apart 
by  the  fire,  while  her  children  gambled  for  crack-nuts, 
young  Petey  having  made  a teetotum  for  Tommy  and 
taught  him  what  the  letters  on  it  meant.  Their  mirth 
rang  faintly  in  her  ear,  and  they  scarcely  heard  her  fits 
of  coughing;  she  was  as  much  engrossed  in  her  own 
thoughts  as  they  in  theirs,  but  hers  were  sad  and  theirs 
were  jocund  — Hogmanay,  like  all  festivals,  being  but 


ATTLD  LANG  SYNE 


109 


a bank  from  which  we  can  only  draw  what  we  put  in. 
So  an  hour  or  more  passed,  after  which  Tommy  whis- 
pered to  Elspeth:  “Now ’s  the  time;  they’re  at  it 
now,”  and  each  took  a hand  of  their  mother,  and  she 
woke  from  her  reverie  to  find  that  they  had  pulled  her 
from  her  chair  and  were  jumping  up  and  down,  shout- 
ing, excitedly,  “For  Auld  Lang  Syne,  my  dear,  for 
Auld  Lang  Syne,  Auld  Lang  Syne,  my  dear,  Auld  Lang 
Syne.”  She  tried  to  sing  the  words  with  her  children, 

tried  to  dance  round  with  them,  tried  to  smile,  but 

It  was  Tommy  who  dropped  her  hand  first.  “ Mother,” 
he  cried,  “your  face  is  wet,  you’re  greeting  sair,  and 
you  said  you  had  forgot  the  way.” 

“I  mind  it  now,  man,  I mind  it  now,”  she  said, 
standing  helplessly  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

Elspeth  nestled  against  her,  crying,  “ My  mother  was 
thinking  about  Thrums,  was  n’t  she,  Tommy  ? ” 

“I  was  thinking  about  the  part  o’t  I’m  most  awid 
to  be  in,”  the  poor  woman  said,  sinking  back  into  her 
chair. 

“It ’s  the  Den,”  Tommy  told  Elspeth. 

“It ’s  the  Square,”  Elspeth  told  Tommy. 

“No,  it ’s  Monypenny.” 

“No,  it ’s  the  Commonty.” 

But  it  was  none  of  these  places.  “ It ’s  the  ceme- 
tery,” the  woman  said,  “it’s  the  hamely,  quiet  ceme- 
tery on  the  hillside.  Oh,  there ’s  mony  a bonny  place 
in  my  nain  bonny  toon,  but  there  ’s  nain  so  hamely  like 


110 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


as  the  cemetery.”  She  sat  shaking  in  the  chair,  and 
they  thought  she  was  to  say  no  more,  but  presently  she 
rose  excitedly,  and  with  a vehemence  that  made  them 
shrink  from  her  she  cried:  “ I winna  lie  in  London! 
tell  Aaron  Latta  that ; I winna  lie  in  London  ! ” 

For  a few  more  days  she  trudged  to  her  work,  and 
after  that  she  seldom  left  her  bed.  She  had  no  longer 
strength  to  coax  up  the  phlegm,  and  a doctor  brought 
in  by  Shovel’s  mother  warned  her  that  her  days  were 
near  an  end.  Then  she  wrote  her  last  letter  to  Thrums, 
Tommy  and  Elspeth  standing  by  to  pick  up  the  pen 
when  it  fell  from  her  feeble  hand,  and  in  the  intervals 
she  told  them  that  she  was  Jean  Myles. 

“And  if  I die  and  Aaron  hasna  come,”  she  said, 
“you  maun  just  gang  to  auld  Petey  and  tell  him  wha 
you  are.” 

“But  how  can  you  be  Jean  Myles  ?”  asked  astounded 

Tommy.  “You  ain’t  a grand  lady  and ” 

His  mother  looked  at  Elspeth.  “No’  afore  her,”  she 
besought  him;  but  before  he  set  off  to  post  the  letter 
she  said:  “Come  canny  into  my  bed  the  night,  when 
Elspeth ’s  sleeping,  and  syne  I ’ll  tell  you  all  there  is  to 
tell  about  Jean  Myles.” 

“ Tell  me  now  whether  the  letter  is  to  Aaron  Latta  ? ” 
“It ’s  for  him,”  she  said,  “but  it ’s  no’  to  him.  1 7m 
feared  he  might  burn  it  without  opening  it  if  he  saw 
my  write  on  the  cover,  so  I ’ve  wrote  it  to  a friend  of 
his  wha  will  read  it  to  him.” 


AXJLD  LANG  SYNE 


111 


" And  what ’ s inside,  mother  ? ” the  boy  begged, 
inquisitively.  “ It  must  be  queer  things  if  they  ’ll 
bring  Aaron  Latta  all  the  way  from  Thrums.” 

“There’s  but  little  in  it,  man,”  she  said,  pressing 
her  hand  hard  upon  her  chest.  “ It ’s  no  muckle  mair 
than  6 Auld  Lang  Syne,  my  dear,  for  Auld  Lang 
Syne.’  ” 


CHAPTER  X 


THE  FAVORITE  OF  THE  LADIES 

That  night  the  excited  boy  was  wakened  by  a tap- 
tap,  as  of  someone  knocking  for  admittance,  and  steal- 
ing to  his  mother’s  side,  he  cried,  “Aaron  Latta  has 
come;  hearken  to  him  chapping  at  the  door!” 

It  was  only  the  man  through  the  wall,  but  Mrs. 
Sandys  took  Tommy  into  bed  with  her,  and  while 
Elspeth  slept,  told  him  the  story  of  her  life.  She 
coughed  feebly  now,  but  the  panting  of  the  dying  is  a 
sound  that  no  walls  can  cage,  and  the  man  continued  to 
remonstrate  at  intervals.  Tommy  never  recalled  his 
mother’s  story  without  seeming,  through  the  darkness 
in  which  it  was  told,  to  hear  Elspeth’s  peaceful  breath- 
ing and  the  angry  tap-tap  on  the  wall. 

“I ’m  sweer  to  tell  it  to  you,”  she  began,  “but  tell  I 
maun,  for  though  it ’s  just  a warning  to  you  and  Elspeth 
no’  to  be  like  them  that  brought  you  into  the  world, 
it ’s  all  I have  to  leave  you.  Ay,  and  there ’s  another 
reason : you  may  soon  be  among  folk  wha  ken  but  half 
the  story  and  put  a waur  face  on  it  than  I deserve.” 

She  had  spoken  calmly,  but  her  next  words  were 
passionate. 


THE  FAVORITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


113 


u They  thought  I was  fond  o’  him,”  she  cried ; “ oh, 
they  were  blind,  blind!  Frae  the  first  I could  never 
thole  the  sight  o’  him. 

“ Maybe  that  ’s  no’  true,”  she  had  to  add.  "I  aye 
kent  he  was  a black,  but  yet  I couldna  put  him  out 
o’  my  head;  he  took  sudden  grips  o’  me  like  an  evil 
thought.  I aye  ran  frae  him,  and  yet  I sair  doubt  that 
I went  looking  for  him  too.” 

“ Was  it  Aaron  Latta  ?”  Tommy  asked. 

“No,  it  was  your  father.  The  first  I ever  saw  of 
him  was  at  Cullew,  four  lang  miles  frae  Thrums. 
There  was  a ball  after  the  market,  and  Esther  Auld  and 
me  went  to  it.  We  went  in  a cart,  and  I was  wearing 
a pink  print,  wi’  a white  bonnet,  and  blue  ribbons  that 
tied  aneath  the  chin.  I had  a shawl  abune,  no’  to  file 
them.  There  wasna  a more  innocent  lassie  in  Thrums, 
man,  no,  nor  a happier  one ; for  Aaron  Latta  — Aaron 
came  half  the  way  wi’  us,  and  he  was  hauding  my  hand 
aneath  the  shawl.  He  hadna  speired  me  at  that  time, 
but  I just  kent. 

“ It  was  an  auld  custom  to  choose  a queen  of  beauty 
at  the  ball,  but  that  night  the  men  couldna  ’gree  wha 
should  be  judge,  and  in  the  tail-end  they  went  out 
thegither  to  look  for  one,  determined  to  mak’  judge  o’ 
the  first  man  they  met,  though  they  should  have  to  tear 
him  off  a horse  and  bring  him  in  by  force.  You  wouldna 
believe  to  look  at  me  now,  man,  that  I could  have  had 
any  thait  o’  being  made  queen,  but  I was  fell  bonny, 

* 


114 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


i and  I was  as  keen  as  the  rest.  How  simple  we  were, 
all  pretending  to  one  another  that  we  didna  want  to  be 
chosen!  Esther  Auld  said  she  would  hod  ahint  the 
tent  till  a queen  was  picked,  and  at  the  very  time  she 
said  it,  she  was  in  a palsy,  through  no  being  able  to 
decide  whether  she  looked  better  in  her  shell  necklace 
or  wanting  it.  She  put  it  on  in  the  end,  and  syne 
when  we  heard  the  tramp  o’  the  men,  her  mind  misgave 
her,  and  she  cried : ‘ For  the  love  o’  mercy,  keep  them 
out  till  I get  it  off  again!’  So  we  were  a’  laughing 
when  they  came  in, 

“ Laddie,  it  was  your  father  and  Elspeth’s  that  they 
brought  wi’  them,  and  he  was  a stranger  to  us,  though 
we  kent  something  about  him  afore  the  night  was  out. 
He  was  finely  put  on,  wi’  a gold  chain,  and  a free  w’y 
of  looking  at  women,  and  if  you  mind  o’  him  ava,  you 
ken  that  he  was  fair  and  buirdly,  wi’  a full  face,  and 
aye  a laugh  ahint  it.  I tell  ye,  man,  that  when  our  een 
met,  and  I saw  that  triumphing  laugh  ahint  his  face,  I 
took  a fear  of  him,  as  if  I had  guessed  the  end. 

“ For  years  and  years  after  that  night  I dreamed  it 
ower  again,  and  aye  I heard  mysel’  crying  to  God  to 
keep  that  man  awa’  frae  me.  But  I doubt  I put  up  no 
sic  prayer  at  the  time;  his  masterful  look  fleid  me,  and 
yet  it  drew  me  against  my  will,  and  I was  trembling 
wi’  pride  as  well  as  fear  when  he  made  me  queen.  We 
danced  thegither  and  fought  thegither  a’  through  the 
ball,  and  my  will  was  no  match  for  his,  and  the  worst 


THE  FAVORITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


115 


o’t  was  I had  a kind  o’  secret  pleasure  in  being 
mastered. 

" Man,  he  kissed  me.  Lads  had  kissed  me  afore  that 
night,  but  never  since  first  I went  wi’  Aaron  Latta  to 
the  Cuttle  Well.  Aaron  hadna  done  it,  but  I was 
never  to  let  none  do  it  again  except  him.  So  when 
your  father  did  it  I struck  him,  but  ahint  the  redness 
that  came  ower  his  face,  I saw  his  triumphing  laugh, 
and  he  whispered  that  he  liked  me  for  the  blow.  He 
said,  1 1 prefer  the  sweer  anes,  and  the  more  you 
struggle,  my  beauty,  the  better  pleased  I ’ll  be.’ 
Almost  his  hinmost  words  to  me  was,  1 1 ’ve  been 
hearing  of  your  Aaron,  and  that  pleases  me  too ! ’ I 
fired  up  at  that  and  telled  him  what  I thought  of  him, 
but  he  said,  4 If  you  canna  abide  me,  what  made  you 
dance  wi’  me  so  often  ? ’ and,  oh,  laddie,  that ’s  a 
question  that  has  sung  in  my  head  since  syne. 

“ I ’ve  telled  you  that  we  found  out  wha  he  was,  and 
Meed  he  made  no  secret  of  it.  Up  to  the  time  he  was 
twal  year  auld  he  had  been  a kent  face  in  that  part,  for 
his  mither  was  a Cullew  woman  called  Mag  Sandys, 
ay,  and  a single  woman.  She  was  a hard  ane  too,  for 
when  he  was  twelve  year  auld  he  flung  out  o’  the  house 
saying  he  would  ne’er  come  back,  and  she  said  he 
shouldna  run  awa’  wi’  thae  new  boots  on,  so  she  took 
the  boots  off  him  and  let  him  go. 

“ He  was  a grown  man  when  more  was  heard  o’  him, 
and  syne  stories  came  saying  he  was  at  Eedlintie,  play 


116 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


in g queer  games  wi’  his  father.  His  father  was  gauger 
there,  that  ’s  exciseman,  a Mr.  Cray,  wha  got  his  wife 
out  o ’ Thrums,  and  even  when  he  was  courting  her  (so 
they  say)  had  the  heart  to  be  ower  chief  wi*  this  other 
woman.  Weel,  Magerful  Tam,  as  he  was  called  through 
being  so  masterful,  cast  up  at  Eedlintie  frae  none  kent 
where,  gey  desperate  for  siller,  but  wi’  a black  coat  on 
his  back,  and  he  said  that  all  he  wanted  was  to  be 
owned  as  the  gaugers  son.  Mr.  Cray  said  there  was 
no  proof  that  he  was  his  son,  and  syne  the  queer  sport 
began.  Your  father  had  noticed  he  was  like  Mr.  Cray, 
except  in  the  beard,  and  so  he  had  his  beard  clippit  the 
same,  and  he  got  haud  o’  some  weel-kent  claethes  o' 
the  gauger’s  that  had  been  presented  to  a poor  body, 
and  he  learned  up  a’  the  gauger’s  tricks  of  speech  and 
walking,  especially  a droll  w’y  he  had  o’  taking  snuff 
and  syne  flinging  back  his  head.  They  were  as  like  as 
buckies  after  that,  and  soon  there  was  a town  about  it,  for 
one  day  ladies  would  find  that  they  had  been  bowing  to 
the  son  thinking  he  was  the  father,  and  the  next  they 
wouldna  speak  to  the  father,  mistaking  him  for  the  son ; 
and  a report  spread  to  the  head  office  o’  the  excise  that  the 
gauger  of  Eedlintie  spent  his  evenings  at  a public  house, 
singing  ‘The  De’il’s  aw  a’  wi’  the  Exciseman.’  Tam 
drank  nows  and  nans,  and  it  ga’e  Mr.  Cray  a turn  to  see 
him  come  rolling  yont  the  street,  just  as  if  it  was  himseF 
in  a looking-glass.  He  was  a sedate-living  man  now,  but 
chiefly  because  his  wife  kept  him  in  good  control,  and 


THE  FAVOKITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


117 


this  sight  brought  back  auld  times  so  vive  to  him,  that 
he  a kind  of  mistook  which  ane  he  was,  and  took  to  drop- 
ping, forgetful-like,  into  public-houses  again.  It  was 
high  time  Tam  should  be  got  out  of  the  place,  and  they 
did  manage  to  bribe  him  into  leaving,  though  no  easily, 
for  it  had  been  fine  sport  to  him,  and  to  make  a sensa- 
tion was  what  he  valued  above  all  things.  We  heard 
that  he  went  back  to  Redlintie  a curran  years  after,  but 
both  the  gauger  and  his  wife  were  dead,  and  I ken  that 
he  didna  trouble  the  twa  daughtors.  They  were  Miss 
Ailie  and  Miss  Kitty,  and  as  they  werena  left  as  well 
off  as  was  expected  they  came  to  Thrums,  which  had 
been  their  mother’s  town,  and  started  a school  for  the 
gentry  there.  I dinna  doubt  but  what  it  ’s  the  school 
that  Esther  Auld’s  laddie  is  at. 

“So  after  being  long  lost  sight  o’  he  turned  up  at 
Cullew,  wi’  what  looked  to  simple  folk  a fortune  in  his 
pouches,  and  half  a dozen  untrue  stories  about  how  he 
made  it.  He  had  come  to  make  a show  o’  himsel’  afore 
his  mither,  and  I dare  say  to  give  her  some  gold,  for  he 
was  aye  ready  to  give  when  he  had,  I ’ll  say  that  for 
him;  but  she  had  flitted  to  some  unkent  place,  and  so 
he  bade  on  some  weeks  at  the  Cullew  public.  He 
caredna  whether  the  folk  praised  or  blamed  him  so  long 
as  they  wondered  at  him,  and  queer  stories  about  his 
doings  was  aye  on  the  road  to  Thrums.  One  was  that 
he  gave  wild  suppers  to  whaever  would  come;  anothei 
that  he  went  to  the  kirk  just  for  the  glory  of  flinging  a 


118 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


sovereign  into  the  plate  wi’  a clatter;  another  that 
when  he  lay  sleeping  on  twa  chairs,  gold  and  silver 
dribbled  out  o’  his  trouser  pouches  to  the  floor. 

“ There  was  an  ugly  story  too,  about  a lassie,  that  led 
to  his  leaving  the  place  and  coming  to  Thrums,  after  he 
had  near  killed  the  Cullew  smith  in  a fight.  The  first 
I heard  o’  his  being  in  Thrums  was  when  Aaron  Latta 
walked  into  my  granny’s  house  and  said  there  was  a 
strange  man  at  the  Tappit  Hen  public  standing  drink 
to  any  that  would  tak’,  and  boasting  that  he  had  but  to 
waggle  his  finger  to  make  me  give  Aaron  up.  I went 
wi’  Aaron  and  looked  in  at  the  window,  but  I kent 
wha  it  was  afore  I looked.  If  Aaron  had  just  gone 
in  and  struck  him!  All  decent  women,  laddie,  has  a 
horror  of  being  fought  about.  I ’m  no  sure  but  what 
that ’s  just  the  difference  atween  guid  ones  and  ill  ones, 
but  this  man  had  a power  ower  me;  and  if  Aaron  had 
just  struck  him!  Instead  o’  meddling  he  turned  white, 
and  I couldna  help  contrasting  them,  and  thinking  how 
masterful  your  father  looked.  Fine  I kent  he  was  a 
brute,  and  yet  I couldna  help  admiring  him  for  looking 
so  magerful. 

“He  bade  on  at  the  Tappit  Hen,  flinging  his  siller 
about  in  the  way  that  made  him  a king  at  Cullew, 
but  no  molesting  Miss  Ailie  and  Miss  Kitty,  which 
all  but  me  thought  was  what  he  had  come  to  Thrums 
to  do.  Aaron  and  me  was  cried  for  the  first  time 
the  Sabbath  after  he  came,  and  the  next  Sabbath  for 


THE  FAVORITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


119 


the  second  time,  but  afore  that  he  was  aye  getting  in 
my  road  and  speaking  to  me,  but  I ran  frae  him  and 
hod  frae  him  when  I could,  and  he  said  the  reason  I did 
that  was  because  I kent  his  will  was  stronger  than 
mine.  He  was  aye  saying  things  that  made  me  think 
he  saw  down  to  the  bottom  o’  my  soul;  what  I didna 
understand  was  that  in  mastering  other  women  he  had 
been  learning  to  master  me.  Ay,  but  though  I thought 
ower  muckle  about  him,  never  did  I speak  him  fair.  I 
loo’ed  Aaron  wi’  all  my  heart,  and  your  father  kent  it; 
and  that,  I doubt,  was  what  made  him  so  keen,  for,  oh, 
but  he  was  vain ! 

“ And  now  we ’ve  come  to  the  night  I ’m  so  sweer  to 
speak  about.  She  was  a good  happy  lassie  that  went 
into  the  Den  that  moonlight  night  wi’  Aaron’s  arm 
round  her,  but  it  was  another  woman  that  came  out. 
We  thought  we  had  the  Den  to  oursel’s,  and  as  we  sat 
on  the  Shoaging  Stane  at  the  Cuttle  Well,  Aaron  wrote 
wi’  a stick  on  the  ground  ‘ Jean  Latta,’  and  prigged  wi’ 
me  to  look  at  it,  but  I spread  my  hands  ower  my  face, " 
and  he  didna  ken  that  I was  keeking  at  it  through  my 
fingers  all  the  time.  We  was  so  ta’en  up  with  oursel’s 
that  we  saw  nobody  coming,  and  all  at  once  there  was 
your  father  by  the  side  o’  us!  ‘You’ve  written  the 
wrong  name,  Aaron,’  he  said,  jeering  and  pointing  with 
his  foot  at  the  letters;  * it  should  be  Jean  Sandys.’ 

“ Aaron  said  not  a word,  but  I had  a presentiment 
of  ill,  and  I cried,  * Dinna  let  him  change  the  name, 


120 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Aaron!  ’ ^our  father  had  been  to  change  it  himsel’, 
but  at  that  he  had  a new  thait,  and  he  said, 4 No,  I ’ll 
no’  do  it;  your  brave  Aaron  shall  do  it  for  me.* 

“ Laddie,  it  doesna  do  for  a man  to  be  a coward  afore 
a woman  that ’s  fond  o’  him.  A woman  will  thole  a 
man’s  being  anything  except  like  hersel’.  When  I was 
sure  Aaron  was  a coward  I stood  still  as  death,  waiting 
to  ken  wha’s  I was  to  be. 

“ Aaron  did  it.  He  was  loath,  but  your  father 
crushed  him  to  the  ground,  and  said  do  it  he  should, 
and  warned  him  too  that  if  he  did  it  he  would  lose  me, 
bantering  him  and  cowing  him  and  advising  him  no’  to 
shame  me,  all  in  a breath.  He  kent  so  weel,  you  see, 
what  was  in  my  mind,  and  aye  there  was  that  triumph- 
ing laugh  ahint  his  face.  If  Aaron  had  fought  and 
been  beaten,  even  if  he  had  just  lain  there  and  let  the 
man  strike  away,  if  he  had  done  anything  except  what 
he  was  bidden,  he  would  have  won,  for  it  would  have 
broken  your  father’s  power  ower  me.  But  to  write  the 
word ! It  was  like  dishonoring  me  to  save  his  ain  skin, 
and  your  father  took  good  care  he  should  ken  it. 
You  ’ve  heard  me  crying  to  Aaron  in  my  sleep,  but  it 
wasna  for  him  I cried,  it  was  for  his  fireside.  All  the 
love  I had  for  him,  and  it  was  muckle,  was  skailed 
forever  that  night  at  the  Cuttle  Well.  Without  a look 
ahint  me  away  I went  wi*  my  master,  and  I had  no  more 
will  to  resist  him  — and  oh,  man,  man,  when  I came  to 
mysel’  next  morning  I wished  I had  never  been  born! 


THE  FAVORITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


121 


“ The  men  folk  saw  that  Aaron  had  shamed  them,  and 
they  werena  quite  so  set  agin  me  as  the  women,  wha  had 
guessed  the  truth,  though  they  couldna  be  sure  o’t.  Sair 
I pitied  myseP,  and  sair  I grat,  but  only  when  none  was 
looking.  The  mair  they  miscalled  me  the  higher  I held 
my  head,  and  I hung  on  your  fathers  arm  as  if  I adored 
him,  and  I boasted  about  his  office  and  his  clerk  in  Lon- 
don till  they  believed  what  I didna  believe  a word  o’ 
myself. 

“ But  though  I put  sic  a brave  face  on  ’t,  I was  near 
demented  in  case  he  shouldna  marry  me,  and  he  kent 
that  and  jokit  me  about  it.  Dinna  think  I was  fond  o’ 
him  ; I hated  him  now.  And  dinna  think  his  masterful- 
ness had  any  more  power  ower  me;  his  power  was 
broken  forever  when  I woke  up  that  weary  morning. 
But  that  was  ower  late,  and  to  wait  on  by  myseP  in 
Thrums  for  what  might  happen,  and  me  a single  wo- 
man — I daredna ! So  I flattered  at  him,  and  flattered  at 
him,  till  I got  the  fool  side  o’  him,  and  he  married  me. 

“My  granny  let  the  marriage  take  place  in  her  house, 
and  he  sent  in  so  muckle  meat  and  drink  that  some  folk 
was  willing  to  come.  One  came  that  wasna  wanted.  In 
the  middle  o’  the  marriage  Aaron  Latta,  wha  had  refused 
to  speak  to  anybody  since  that  night,  walked  in  wearing 
his  blacks,  wi’  crape  on  them,  as  if  it  was  a funeral,  and 
all  he  said  was  that  he  had  come  to  see  Jean  Myles 
coffined.  He  went  away  quietly  as  soon  as  we  was  mar- 
ried, but  the  crowd  outside  had  fathomed  his  meaning 


122 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


and  abune  the  minister’s  words  I could  hear  them  cry- 
ing, ‘ Ay,  it ’s  mair  like  a burial  than  a marriage ! ’ 

“ My  heart  was  near  breaking  wi’  woe,  but,  oh,  I was 
awid  they  shouldna  ken  it,  and  the  bravest  thing  I ever  did 
was  to  sit  through  the  supper  that  night,  making  muckle 
o’  your  father,  looking  fond-like  at  him,  laughing  at  his 
coarse  jokes,  and  secretly  hating  him  down  to  my  very 
marrow  a’  the  time.  The  crowd  got  word  o’  the  on- 
goings, and  they  took  a cruel  revenge.  A carriage  had 
been  ordered  for  nine  o’clock  to  take  us  to  Tilliedrum, 
where  we  should  get  the  train  to  London,  and  when  we 
heard  it,  as  we  thought,  drive  up  to  the  door,  out  we 
went,  me  on  your  father’s  arm  laughing,  but  wi’  my 
teeth  set.  But  Aaron’s  words  had  put  an  idea  into  their 
heads,  though  he  didna  intend  it,  and  they  had  got  ont 
the  hearse.  It  was  the  hearse  they  had  brought  to  the 
door  instead  of  a carriage. 

“ We  got  awa’  in  a carriage  in  the  tailend,  and  the 
stanes  hitting  it  was  all  the  good  luck  flung  after  me. 
It  had  just  one  horse,  and  I mind  how  I cried  to  Esther 
Auld,  wha  had  been  the  first  to  throw,  that  when  I came 
back  it  would  be  in  a carriage  and  pair. 

“ Ay,  I had  pride ! In  the  carriage  your  father  telled 
me  as  a joke  that  he  had  got  away  without  paying  the 
supper,  and  that  about  all  the  money  he  had  now,  forby 
what  was  to  pay  our  tickets  to  London,  was  the  half- 
sovereign  on  his  watch-chain.  But  I was  determined  to 
have  Thrums  think  I had  married  grand,  and  as  I had  th^ee 


THE  FAVORITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


128 


pound  six  on  me,  the  savings  o’  all  my  days,  I gave  two 
pound  of  it  to  Malcolm  Crabb,  the  driver,  unbeknown  to 
your  father,  but  pretending  it  was  frae  him,  and  telled 
him  to  pay  for  the  supper  and  the  carriage  with  it.  He 
said  it  was  far  ower  muckle,  but  I just  laughed,  and  said 
wealthy  gentlemen  like  Mr.  Sandys  couldna  be  bothered 
to  take  back  change,  so  Malcolm  could  keep  what  was 
ower.  Malcolm  was  the  man  Esther  Auld  had  just  mar- 
ried, and  I counted  on  this  maddening  her  and  on  Mal- 
colm's spreading  the  story  through  the  town.  Laddie, 
I 've  kent  since  syne  what  it  is  to  be  without  bite  or  sup, 
but  I've  never  grudged  that  siller." 

The  poor  woman  had  halted  many  times  in  her  tale, 
and  she  was  glad  to  make  an  end.  “ You 've  forgotten 
what  a life  he  led  me  in  London,"  she  said,  “and  it 
could  do  you  no  good  to  hear  it,  though  it  might  be  a 
lesson  to  thae  lassies  at  the  dancing-school  wha  think  so 
much  o'  masterful  men.  It  was  by  betting  at  horse- 
races that  your  father  made  a living,  and  whiles  he  was 
large  o'  siller,  but  that  didna  last,  and  I question  whether 
he  would  have  stuck  to  me  if  I hadna  got  work.  Well, 
he  ?s  gone,  and  the  Thrums  folk  '11  soon  ken  the  truth 
about  Jean  Myles  now." 

She  paused,  and  then  cried,  with  extraordinary  vehe- 
mence : “ Oh,  man,  how  I wish  I could  keep  it  frae  them 
for  ever  and  ever  ! " 

But  presently  she  was  calm  again  and  she  said: 
“ What  I 've  been  telling  you,  you  can  understand  little 


124 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


o’  the  now,  but  some  of  it  will  come  back  to  you  when 
you  ’re  a grown  man,  and  if  you  ’re  magerful  and  have 
some  lassie  in  your  grip,  maybe  for  the  memory  of  her 
that  bore  you,  you  ’ll  let  the  poor  thing  awa’.” 

And  she  asked  him  to  add  this  to  his  nightly  prayer : 
“ 0 God,  keep  me  from  being  a magerful  man ! ” and  to 
teach  this  other  prayer  to  Elspeth,  “0  God,  whatever  is 
to  be  my  fate,  may  I never  be  one  of  them  that  bow  the 
knee  to  magerful  men,  and  if  I was  born  like  that  and 
canna  help  it,  oh,  take  me  up  to  heaven  afore  I ’m  fil’t.” 

The  wardrobe  was  invisible  in  the  darkness,  but  they 
could  still  hear  Elspeth’s  breathing  as  she  slept,  and  the 
exhausted  woman  listened  long  to  it,  as  if  she  would  fain 
carry  away  with  her  to  the  other  world  the  memory  of 
that  sweet  sound. 

“If  you  gang  to  Thrums,”  she  said  at  last,  “you  may 
hear  my  story  frae  some  that  winna  spare  me  in  the  tell- 
ing ; but  should  Elspeth  be  wi’  you  at  sic  times,  dinna 
answer  back  ; just  slip  quietly  away  wi’  her.  She ’s  so 
young  that  she  ’ll  soon  forget  all  about  her  life  in  Lon- 
don and  all  about  me,  and  that  ’ll  be  best  for  her.  I 
would  like  her  lassiehood  to  be  bright  and  free  frae 
cares,  as  if  there  had  never  been  sic  a woman  as  me. 
But  laddie,  oh,  my  laddie,  dinna  you  forget  me  ; you  and 
me  had  him  to  thole  thegither,  dinna  you  forget  me ! 
Watch  ower  your  little  sister  by  day  and  hap  her  by 
night,  and  when  the  time  comes  that  a man  wants  her  — 
if  he  be  magerful,  tell  her  my  story  at  once.  But  gin 


THE  FAVOBITE  OF  THE  LADIES 


125 


she  loves  one  that  is  her  ain  true  love,  dinna  rub  off  the 
bloom,  laddie,  with  a word  about  me.  Let  her  and  him 
gang  to  the  Cuttle  Well,  as  Aaron  and  me  went,  kenning 
no  guile  and  thinking  none,  and  with  their  arms  round 
one  another’s  waists.  But  when  her  wedding-day  comes 
round ” 

Her  words  broke  in  a sob  and  she  cried : “ I see  them, 
1 see  them  standing  up  thegither  afore  the  minister ! Oh! 
you  lad,  you  lad  that ’s  to  be  married  on  my  Elspeth,  turn 
your  face  and  let  me  see  that  you  ’re  no’  a magerful  man ! ” 

But  the  lad  did  not  turn  his  face,  and  when  she  spoke 
next  it  was  to  Tommy. 

“ In  the  bottom  o’  my  kist  there ’s  a little  silver  teapot. 
It ’s  no’  real  silver,  but  it ’s  fell  bonny.  I bought  it  for 
Elspeth  twa  or  three  months  back  when  I saw  I couldna 
last  the  winter.  I bought  it  to  her  for  a marriage  pres- 
ent. She’s  no’  to  see  it  till  her  wedding-day  comes 
round.  Syne  you’re  to  give  it  to  her,  man,  and  say  it’s 
with  her  mother’s  love.  Tell  her  all  about  me,  for  it 
canna  harm  her  then.  Tell  her  of  the  fool  lies  I sent  to 
Thrums,  but  dinna  forget  what  a bonny  place  I thought 
it  all  the  time,  nor  how  I stood  on  many  a driech  night 
at  the  corner  of  that  street,  looking  so  waeful  at  the 
lighted  windows,  and  hungering  for  the  wring  of  a 
Thrums  hand  or  the  sound  of  the  Thrums  word,  and  all 
the  time  the  shrewd  blasts  cutting  through  my  thin 
trails  of  claithes.  Tell  her,  man,  how  you  and  me  spent 
this  night,  and  how  I fought  to  keep  my  hoast  down  so 


126 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


as  no*  to  waken  her.  Mind  that  whatever  I have  been,  1 
was  aye  fond  o’  my  bairns,  and  slaved  for  them  till  I 
dropped.  She’ll  have  long  forgotten  what  I was  like, 
and  it’s  just  as  well,  but  yet — Look  at  me,  Tommy, 
look  long,  long,  so  as  you  ’ll  be  able  to  call  up  my  face  as 
it  was  on  the  far-back  night  when  I telled  you  my  mourn- 
ful story.  Ha,  you  canna  see  in  the  dark,  but  haud  my 
hand,  haud  it  tight,  so  that,  when  you  tell  Elspeth,  you  ’ll 
mind  how  hot  it  was,  and  the  skin  loose  on  it  5 and  put 
your  hand  on  my  cheeks,  man,  and  feel  how  wet  they  are 
wi’  sorrowful  tears,  and  lay  it  on  my  breast,  so  that  you 
can  tell  her  how  I was  shrunk  awa’.  And  if  she  greets 
for  her  mother  a whiley,  let  her  greet.” 

The  sobbing  boy  hugged  his  mother.  “ Do  you  think 
I ’m  an  auld  woman  ?”  she  said  to  him. 

“ You  ’re  gey  auld,  are  you  no’  ? ” he  answered. 

“ Ay,”  she  said,  “ I ’m  gey  auld ; I ’m  nine  and  twenty.  1 
was  seventeen  on  the  day  when  Aaron  Latta  went  half* 
road  in  the  cart  wi’  me  to  Cullew,  hauding  my  hand  aneath 
my  shawl.  He  hadna  spiered  me,  but  I just  kent.” 

Tommy  remained  in  his  mother’s  bed  for  the  rest  of 
the  night,  and  so  many  things  were  buzzing  in  his  brain 
that  not  for  an  hour  did  he  think  it  time  to  repeat  his 
new  prayer.  At  last  he  said  reverently : “ 0 God,  keep 
me  from  being  a magerful  man  ! ” Then  he  opened  his 
eyes  to  let  God  see  that  his  prayer  was  ended,  and  added 
to  himself : “ But  I think  I would  fell  like  it” 


CHAPTER  XI 


AARON  LATTA 

The  Airlie  post  had  dropped  the  letters  for  outlying 
farms  at  the  Monypenny  smithy  and  trudged  on.  The 
smith  having  wiped  his  hand  on  his  hair,  made  a row 
of  them,  without  looking  at  the  addresses,  on  his 
window-sill,  where,  happening  to  be  seven  in  number, 
they  were  almost  a model  of  Monypenny,  which  is 
within  hail  of  Thrums,  but  round  the  corner  from  it, 
and  so  has  ways  of  its  own.  With  the  next  clang  on 
the  anvil  the  middle  letter  fell  flat,  and  now  the  like- 
ness to  Monypenny  was  absolute. 

Again  all  the  sound  in  the  land  was  the  melancholy 
sweet  kink,  kink,  kink  of  the  smith’s  hammer. 

Across  the  road  sat  Dite  Deuchars,  the  mole-catcher, 
a solitary  figure,  taking  his  pleasure  on  the  dyke. 
Behind  him  was  the  flour-miller’s  field,  and  beyond  it 
the  Den,  of  which  only  some  tree-tops  were  visible.  He 
looked  wearily  east  the  road,  but  no  one  emerged  from 
Thrums;  he  looked  wearily  west  the  road,  which 
doubled  out  of  sight  at  Aaron  Latta’s  cottage,  little 
more  than  a stone’s  throw  distant.  On  the  inside  of 
Aaron’s  window  an  endless  procession  seemed  to  be 


128 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


passing,  but  it  was  only  the  warping  mill  going  round. 
It  was  an  empty  day,  but  Dite,  the  accursed,  was  used 
to  them;  nothing  ever  happened  where  he  was,  but 
many  things  as  soon  as  he  had  gone. 

He  yawned  and  looked  at  the  houses  opposite.  They 
were  all  of  one  story;  the  smith’s  had  a rusty  plough 
stowed  away  on  its  roof ; under  a window  stood  a pew 
and  bookboard,  bought  at  the  roup  of  an  old  church, 
and  thus  transformed  into  a garden-seat.  There  were 
many  of  them  in  Thrums  that  year.  All  the  doors, 
except  that  of  the  smithy,  were  shut,  until  one  of  them 
blew  ajar,  when  Dit&  knew  at  once,  from  the  smell 
which  crossed  the  road,  that  Blinder  was  in  the  bunk 
pulling  the  teeth  of  his  potatoes.  May  Ann  Irons,  the 
blind  man’s  niece,  came  out  at  this  door  to  beat  the 
cistern  with  a bass,  and  she  gave  Dite  a wag  of  her 
head.  He  was  to  be  married  to  her  if  she  could  get 
nothing  better. 

By  and  by  the  Painted  Lady  came  along  the  road. 
She  was  a little  woman,  brightly  dressed,  so  fragile 
that  a collie  might  have  knocked  her  over  with  his  tail, 
and  she  had  a beautiful  white-and-pink  face,  the  white 
ending  of  a sudden  in  the  middle  of  her  neck,  where  i4- 
met  skin  of  a duller  color.  As  she  tripped  along  with 
mincing  gait,  she  was  speaking  confidentially  to  her- 
self, but  when  she  saw  Dite  grinning,  she  seemed,  first, 
afraid,  and  then  sorry  for  herself,  and  then  she  tried  to 
carry  it  off  with  a giggle,  cocking  her  head  impudently 


AAEON  LATTA 


129 


at  him.  Even  then  she  looked  childish,  and  a faded 
guilelessness,  with  many  pretty  airs  and  graces,  still 
lingered  about  her,  like  innocent  birds  loath  to  be  gone 
from  the  spot  where  their  nest  has  been.  When  she 
had  passed  monotony  again  reigned,  and  Dite  crossed  to 
the  smithy  window,  though  none  of  the  letters  cou*d 
be  for  him.  He  could  read  the  addresses  on  six  of 
them,  but  the  seventh  lay  on  its  back,  and  every  time 
he  rose  on  his  tip-toes  to  squint  down  at  it,  the  spout 
pushed  his  bonnet  over  his  eyes. 

“ Smith,”  he  cried  in  at  the  door,  “to  gang  hame 
afore  I ken  wha  that  letter ’s  to  is  more  than  I can  do.” 
The  smith  good-naturedly  brought  the  letter  to  him, 
and  then  glancing  at  the  address  was  dumfounded. 
“God  behears,”  he  exclaimed,  with  a sudden  look  at 
£he  distant  cemetery,  “it’s  to  Double  Dykes!” 

Dite  also  shot  a look  at  the  cemetery.  “He  ;11  never 
get  it,”  he  said,  with  mighty  conviction. 

The  two  men  gazed  at  the  cemetery  for  some  time, 
and  at  last  Dite  muttered,  “ Ay,  ay,  Double  Dykes,  you 
was  aye  fond  o?  your  joke ! ” 

“What  has  that  to  do  wi’  *t  ? ” rapped  out  the  smith, 
uncomfortably. 

Dite  shuddered.  “Man,”  he  said,  “does  that  letter 
no  bring  Double  Dykes  back  terrible  vive  again!  If 
we  was  to  see  him  climbing  the  cemetery  dyke  the  now, 
and  coming  stepping  down  the  fields  in  his  moleskin 

waistcoat  wi’  the  pearl  buttons ” 

9 


130 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Auchterlonie  stopped  him  with  a nervous  gesture, 

“But  it  couldna  be  the  pearl  buttons**'  Dite  added 
thoughtfully,  “ for  Betty  Finlayson  has  been  wearing 
them  to  the  kirk  this  four  year.  Ay,  ay,  Double 
Dykes,  that  puts  you  farther  awa’  again.” 

The  smith  took  the  letter  to  a neighbor’s  house  to 
ask  the  advice  of  old  Irons,  the  blind  tailor,  who  when 
he  lost  his  sight  had  given  himself  the  name  of  Blinder 
for  bairns  to  play  with. 

“ Make  your  mind  easy,  smith,”  was  Blinder’s  counsel. 
“The  letter  is  meant  for  the  Painted  Lady.  What ’s 
Double  Dykes  ? It ’s  but  the  name  of  a farm,  and  we 
gave  it  to  Sanders  because  he  was  the  farmer.  He ’s 
dead,  and  them  that ’s  in  the  house  now  become  Double 
Dykes  in  his  place.” 

But  the  Painted  Lady  only  had  the  house,  objected 
Dite;  Nether  Drumgley  was  farming  the  land,  and  so 
he  was  the  real  Double  Dykes.  True,  she  might  have 
pretended  to  her  friends  that  she  had  the  land  also. 

She  had  no  friends,  the  smith  said,  and  since  she 
came  to  Double  Dykes  from  no  one  could  find  out 
where,  though  they  knew  her  furniture  was  bought  in 
Tilliedrum,  she  had  never  got  a letter.  Often,  though, 
as  she  passed  his  window  she  had  keeked  sideways  at 
the  letters,  as  bairns  might  look  at  parlys.  If  he  made 
a tinkle  with  his  hammer  at  such  times  off  she  went  at 
once,  for  she  was  as  easily  flichtered  as  a field  of  crows, 
that  take  wing  if  you  tap  your  pipe  on  the  loof  of  your 


AARON  LATTA 


131 


hand.  It  was  true  she  had  spoken  to  him  once ; when 
he  suddenly  saw  her  standing  at  his  smiddy  door,  the 
surprise  near  made  him  fall  over  his  brot.  She  looked 
so  neat  and  ladylike  that  he  gave  his  hair  a respectful 
pull  before  he  remembered  the  kind  of  woman  she  was. 

And  what  was  it  she  said  to  him  ? Dite  asked 
eagerly. 

She  had  pointed  to  the  letters  on  the  window-sill, 
and  said  she,  “Oh,  the  dear  loves !”  It  was  a queer 
say,  but  she  had  a bonny  English  word.  The  English 
word  was  no  doubt  prideful,  but  it  melted  in  the  mouth 
like  a lick  of  sirup.  She  offered  him  sixpence  for  a 
letter,  any  letter  he  liked,  but  of  course  he  refused  it. 
Then  she  prigged  with  him  just  to  let  her  hold  one  in 
her  hands,  for  said  she,  bairnlike,  “I  used  to  get  one 
every  day.”  It  so  happened  that  one  of  the  letters  was 
to  Mysy  Eobbie ; and  Mysy  was  of  so  little  importance 
that  he  thought  there  would  be  no  harm  in  letting  the 
Painted  Lady  hold  her  letter,  so  he  gave  it  to  her,  and 
you  should  have  seen  her  dawting  it  with  her  hand  and 
holding  it  to  her  breast  like  a lassie  with  a pigeon. 
“ Is  n’t  it  sweet  ? ” she  said,  and  before  he  could  stop 
her  she  kissed  it.  She  forgot  it  was  no  letter  of  hers, 
and  made  to  open  it,  and  then  she  fell  a-trembling  and 
saying  she  durst  not  read  it,  for  you  never  knew 
whether  the  first  words  might  not  break  your  heart. 
The  envelope  was  red  where  her  lips  had  touched  it, 
and  yet  she  had  an  innocent  look  beneath  the  paint 


132 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


When  he  took  the  letter  from  her,  though,  she  called 
him  a low,  vulgar  fellow  for  presuming  to  address  a 
lady.  She  worked  herself  into  a fury,  and  said  far 
worse  than  that;  a perfect  guller  of  clarty  language 
came  pouring  out  of  her.  He  had  heard  women  curse 
many  a time  without  turning  a hair,  but  he  felt  wae 
when  she  did  it,  for  she  just  spoke  it  like  a bairn  that 
had  been  in  ill  company. 

The  smith’s  wife,  Suphy,  who  had  joined  the  com- 
pany, thought  that  men  were  easily  taken  in,  especially 
smiths.  She  offered,  however,  to  convey  the  letter  to 
Double  Dykes.  She  was  anxious  to  see  the  inside  of 
the  Painted  Lady’s  house,  and  this  would  be  a good 
opportunity.  She  admitted  that  she  had  crawled  to  the 
east  window  of  it  before  now,  but  that  dour  bairn  of  the 
Painted  Lady’s  had  seen  her  head  and  whipped  down 
the  blind. 

Unfortunate  Suphy  ! she  could  not  try  the  window 
this  time,  as  it  was  broad  daylight,  and  the  Painted 
Lady  took  the  letter  from  her  at  the  door.  She  returned 
crestfallen,  and  for  an  hour  nothing  happened.  The 
mole-catcher  went  off  to  the  square,  saying,  despond- 
ently, that  nothing  would  happen  until  he  was  round 
the  corner.  No  sooner  had  he  rounded  the  corner  than 
something  did  happen. 

A girl  who  had  left  Double  Dykes  with  a letter  was 
walking  quickly  toward  Monypenny.  She  wore  a white 
pinafore  over  a magenta  frock,  and  no  one  could  tell  hei 


AARON  LATTA 


133 


whether  she  was  seven  or  eight,  for  she  was  only  the 
Painted  Lady’s  child.  Some  boys,  her  natural  enemies, 
were  behind;  they  had  just  emerged  from  the  Den,  and 
she.  heard  them  before  they  saw  her,  and  at  once  her 
little  heart  jumped  and  ran  off  with  her.  But  the  halloo 
that  told  her  she  was  discovered  checked  her  running. 
Her  teeth  went  into  her  underlip;  now  her  head  was 
erect.  After  her  came  the  rabble  with  a rush,  flinging 
stones  that  had  no  mark  and  epithets  that  hit.  Grizel 
disdained  to  look  over  her  shoulder.  Little  hunted 
child,  where  was  succor  to  come  from  if  she  could  not 
fight  for  herself  ? 

Though  under  the  torture  she  would  not  cry  out. 
“ What ’s  a father  ? ” was  their  favorite  jeer,  because 
she  had  once  innocently  asked  this  question  of  a false 
friend.  One  tried  to  snatch  the  letter  from  her,  but 
she  flashed  him  a look  that  sent  him  to  the  other  side 
of  the  dyke,  where,  he  said,  did  she  think  he  was  afraid 
of  her  ? Another  strutted  by  her  side,  mimicking  her 
in  such  diverting  manner  that  presently  the  others  had 
to  pick  him  out  of  the  ditch.  Thus  Grizel  moved 
onward  defiantly  until  she  reached  Mony penny,  where 
she  tossed  the  letter  in  at  the  smithy  door  and  imme- 
diately returned  home.  It  was  the  letter  that  had  been 
sent  to  her  mother,  now  sent  back,  because  it  was 
meant  for  the  dead  farmer  after  all. 

The  smith  read  Jean  Myles’s  last  letter,  with  a face 
of  growing  gravity.  “Dear  Double  Dykes,”  it  said,  “I 


134 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


send  you  these  few  scrapes  to  say  T am  dying,  and  you 
and  Aaron  Latta  was  seldom  sindry,  so  I charge  you  to 
go  to  him  and  say  to  him  4 Aaron  Latta,  it  ’s  all  lies 
Jean  Myles  wrote  to  Thrums  about  her  grandeur,  and 
her  man  died  mony  year  back,  and  it  was  the  only 
kindness  he  ever  did  her,  and  if  she  doesna  die  quick, 
her  and  her  starving  bairns  will  be  flung  out  into  the 
streets.*  If  that  doesna  move  him,  say,  4 Aaron  Latta, 
do  you  mind  yon  day  at  Inverquharity  and  the  cushie 
doos  ? * likewise,  4 Aaron  Latta,  do  you  mind  yon  day 
at  the  Kaims  of  Airlie  ? * likewise,  4 Aaron  Latta,  do 
you  mind  that  Jean  Myles  was  ower  heavy  for  you  to 
lift  ? Oh,  Aaron,  you  could  lift  me  so  pitiful  easy 
now.*  And  syne  says  you  solemnly  three  times,  4 Aaron 
Latta,  Jean  Myles  is  lying  dying  all  alone  in  a foreign 
land;  Aaron  Latta,  Jean  Myles  is  lying  dying  all  alone 
in  a foreign  land;  Aaron  Latta,  Jean  Myles  is  lying 
dying  all  alone  in  a foreign  land.*  And  if  he  ’s  sweer 
to  come,  just  say,  4 Oh,  Aaron,  man,  you  micht;  oh, 
Aaron,  oh,  Aaron,  are  you  coming  ? * ” 

The  smith  had  often  denounced  this  woman,  but  he 
never  said  a word  against  her  again.  He  stood  long 
reflecting,  and  then  took  the  letter  to  Blinder  and  read 
it  to  him. 

“ She  doesna  say,  4 Oh,  Aaron  Latta,  do  you  mind  the 
Cuttle  Well  ? ’ ” was  the  blind  man’s  first  comment. 

“She  was  thinking  about  it,”  said  Auchterlonie. 

“Ay,  and  he’s  thinking  about  it,”  said  Blinder, 


AARON  LATTA 


13fc 


* night  and  day,  night  and  day.  What  a town  there  *11 
be  about  that  letter,  smith!  ” 

“ There  will.  But  I ’m  to  take  it  to  Aaron  afore  the 
news  spreads.  He  *11  never  gang  to  London  though,” 
“I  think  he  will,  smith.” 

“I  ken  him  well.” 

“Maybe  I ken  him  better.” 

“You  canna  see  the  ugly  mark  it  left  on  his  brow.” 

“ I can  see  the  uglier  marks  it  has  left  in  his  breast,” 
“Well,  I *11  take  the  letter;  I can  do  no  more.” 

When  the  smith  opened  the  door  of  Aaron *s  house  he 
let  out  a draught  of  hot  air  that  was  glad  to  be  gone 
from  the  warper’s  restless  home.  The  usual  hallan,  or 
passage,  divided  the  but  from  the  ben,  and  in  the  ben  a 
great  revolving  thing,  the  warping-mill,  half  filled  the 
room.  Between  it  and  a pile  of  webs  that  obscured  the 
light  a little  silent  man  was  sitting  on  a box  turning  a 
handle.  His  shoulders  were  almost  as  high  as  his  ears, 
as  if  he  had  been  caught  forever  in  a storm,  and  though 
he  was  barely  five  and  thirty,  he  had  the  tattered,  dis- 
honored beard  of  black  and  white  that  comes  to  none 
till  the  glory  of  life  has  gone. 

Suddenly  the  smith  appeared  round  the  webs0 
“Aaron,”  he  said,  awkwardly,  “do  you  mind  Jean 
Myles  ? ” 

The  warper  did  not  for  a moment  take  his  eyes  off  a 
contrivance  with  pirns  in  it  that  was  climbing  up  and 
down  the  whirring  mill. 


136 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“She  Js  dead,”  he  answered. 

"She  ’s  dying,”  said  the  smith. 

A thread  broke,  and  Aaron  had  to  rise  to  mend  it. 

"Stop  the  mill  and  listen,”  Auchterlonie  begged  him, 
but  the  warper  returned  to  his  seat?  and  the  mill  again 
revolved. 

"This  is  her  dying  words  to  you,”  continued  the 
smith.  " Did  you  speak  ? ” 

"I  didna,  but  I wish  you  would  take  your  arm  off 
the  haik.” 

"She’s  loath  to  die  without  seeing  you.  Do  you 
hear,  man  ? You  shall  listen  to  me,  I tell  you.” 

"I  am  listening,  smith,”  the  warper  replied,  without 
rancour.  " It ’s  but  right  that  you  should  come  here  to 
take  your  pleasure  on  a shamed  man.”  His  calmness 
gave  him  a kind  of  dignity. 

"Did  I ever  say  you  was  a shamed  man,  Aaron  ?” 

" Am  I not  ? ” the  warper  asked  quietly ; and 
Auchterlonie  hung  his  head. 

Aaron  continued,  still  turning  the  handle,  "You’re 
truthful,  and  you  canna  deny  it.  Nor  will  you  deny 
that  I shamed  you  and  every  other  mother’s  son  that 
night.  You  try  to  hod  it  out  o’  pity,  smith,  but  even 
as  you  look  at  me  now,  does  the  man  in  you  no  rise  up 
against  me  ? ” 

"If  so,”  the  smith  answered  reluctantly,  "if  so,  it’s 
against  my  will.” 

"It  is  so,”  said  Aaron,  in  the  same  measured  voice, 


AARON  LATTA 


137 


“and  it's  right  that  it  should  be  so.  A man  may 
thieve  or  debauch  or  murder,  and  yet  no  be  so  very 
different  frae  his  fellow-men,  but  there  *s  one  thing  he 
shall  not  do  without  their  wanting  to  spit  him  out  o , 
their  mouths,  and  that  is,  violate  the  feelings  of  sex.” 
The  strange  words  in  which  the  warper  described  his 
fall  had  always  an  uncomfortable  effect  on  those  who 
heard  him  use  them,  and  Auchterlonie  could  only 
answer  in  distress,  “Maybe  that  *s  what  it  is.” 

“ That  *s  what  it  is.  I have  had  twal  lang  years  sitting 
on  this  box  to  think  it  out.  I blame  none  but  mysel\” 
“Then  you  *11  have  pity  on  Jean  in  her  sair  need,” 
said  the  smith.  He  read  slowly  the  first  part  of  the 
letter,  but  Aaron  made  no  comment,  and  the  mill  had 
not  stopped  for  a moment. 

“She  says,”  the  smith  proceeded,  doggedly  — “ she 
says  to  say  to  you,  * Aaron  Latta,  do  you  mind  yon  day 
at  Inverquharity  and  the  cushie  doos  ? 9 ” 

Only  the  monotonous  whirr  of  the  mill  replied. 

“She  says,  ‘ Aaron  Latta,  do  you  mind  that  Jean 
Myles  was  ower  heavy  for  you  to  lift  ? Oh,  Aaron,  you 
could  lift  me  so  pitiful  easy  now.*  ” 

Another  thread  broke  and  the  warper  rose  with 
sudden  fury. 

“Now  that  you  *ve  eased  your  conscience,  smith,”  he 
said,  fiercely,  “make  your  feet  your  friend.” 

“1*11  do  so,”  Auchterlonie  answered,  laying  the 
ietter  on  the  webs,  “but  I leave  this  ahint  me.” 


138 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Wap  it  in  the  fire.” 

"If  that’s  to  be  done,  you  do  it  yoursel’.  Aaron, 

she  treated  you  ill,  but ” 

“ There ’s  the  door,  smith.” 

The  smith  walked  away,  and  had  only  gone  a few 
steps  when  he  heard  the  whirr  of  the  mill  again.  He 
went  back  to  the  door. 

“She  ’s  dying,  man!  ” he  cried. 

“ Let  her  die ! ” answered  Aaron. 

In  an  hour  the  sensational  news  was  through  half  of 
Thrums,  of  which  Monypenny  may  be  regarded  as  a 
broken  piece,  left  behind,  like  the  dot  of  quicksilver  in  the 
tube,  to  show  how  high  the  town  once  rose.  Some  could 
only  rejoice  at  first  in  the  down-come  of  Jean  Myles, 
but  most  blamed  the  smith  (and  himself  among  them) 
for  not  taking  note  of  her  address,  so  that  Thrums 
Street  could  be  informed  of  it  and  sent  to  her  relief.  For 
Blinder  alone  believed  that  Aaron  would  be  softened, 
“It  was  twa  threads  the  smith  saw  him  break,”  the 
blind  man  said,  “ and  Aaron ’s  good  at  his  work.  He  ’ll 
go  to  London,  I tell  you.” 

“You  forget,  Blinders,  that  he  was  warping  afore  I 
was  a dozen  steps  frae  the  door.” 

“ Ay,  and  that  just  proves  he  hadna  burned  the  letter, 
for  he  hadna  time.  If  he  didna  do  it  at  the  first 
impulse,  he  ’ll  no  do  it  now.” 

Every  little  while  the  boys  were  sent  along  the  road 
to  look  in  at  Aaron’s  end  window  and  report. 


<'V 

'■c  o/\ 

%.v> 
V* 


AARON  LATTA 


139 


At  seven  in  the  evening  Aaron  had  not  left  his  box, 
and  the  blind  man’s  reputation  for  seeing  farther  than 
those  with  eyes  was  fallen  low. 

“It ’s  a good  sign,”  he  insisted,  nevertheless.  “It 
shows  his  mind ’s  troubled,  for  he  usually  louses  at 
six.” 

By  eight  the  news  was  that  Aaron  had  left  his  mill 
and  was  sitting  staring  at  his  kitchen  fire. 

“ He ’s  thinking  o’  Inverquharity  and  the  cushie 
doos,”  said  Blinder. 

“More  likely,”  said  Dite  Deuchars,  “he’s  thinking 
o’  the  Cuttle  Well.” 

Corp  Shiach  clattered  along  the  road  about  nine  to 
say  that  Aaron  Latta  was  putting  on  his  blacks  as  if 
for  a journey. 

At  once  the  blind  man’s  reputation  rose  on  stilts. 
It  fell  flat,  however,  before  the  ten-o’clock  bell  rang, 
when  three  of  the  Auchterlonie  children,  each  pulling 
the  others  back  that  he  might  arrive  first,  announced 
that  Aaron  had  put  on  his  corduroys  again,  and  was 
back  at  the  mill. 

“That  settles  it,”  was  everyone’s  good-night  to 
Blinder,  but  he  only  answered  thoughtfully,  “There’s 
a fierce  fight  going  on,  my  billies.” 

Next  morning  when  his  niece  was  shaving  the  blind 
man,  the  razor  had  to  travel  over  a triumphant  smirk 
which  would  not  explain  itself  to  womankind,  Blinder 
being  a man  who  could  bide  his  time.  The  time  came 


140 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


when  the  smith  looked  in  to  say,  “ Should  I gang  yont 
to  Aaron’s  and  see  if  he  '11  give  me  the  puir  woman's 
address  ? " 

“No,  I wouldna  advise  that,”  answered  Blinder, 
cleverly  concealing  his  elation,  “for  Aaron  Latta 's 
awa’  to  London." 

“ What  I How  can  you  ken  ? • 

“I  heard  him  go  by  in  the  night." 

“It ’s  no  possible l " 

“I  kent  his  foot." 

“You  're  sure  it  was  Aaron  ? " 

Blinder  did  not  consider  the  question  worth  answer- 
ing, his  sharpness  at  recognizing  friends  by  their  tread 
being  proved.  Sometimes  he  may  have  carried  his 
pretensions  too  far.  Many  granted  that  he  could  tell 
when  a doctor  went  by,  when  a lawyer,  when  a 
thatcher,  when  a herd,  and  this  is  conceivable,  for  all 
callings  have  their  walk.  But  he  was  regarded  as 
uncanny  when  he  claimed  not  only  to  know  ministers  in 
this  way,  but  to  be  able  to  distinguish  between  the 
steps  of  the  different  denominations. 

He  had  made  no  mistake  about  the  warper,  however. 
Aaron  was  gone,  and  ten  days  elapsed  before  he  was 
again  seen  in  Thrums. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A child’s  tragedy 


No  one  in  Thrums  ever  got  a word  from  Aaron  Latta 
about  how  he  spent  those  ten  days,  and  Tommy  and 
Elspeth,  whom  he  brought  back  with  him,  also  tried  to 
be  reticent,  but  some  of  the  women  were  too  clever  for 
them.  Jean  and  Aaron  did  not  meet  again.  Her  first 
intimation  that  he  had  come  she  got  from  Shovel,  who 
said  that  a little  high-shouldered  man  in  black  had 
been  inquiring  if  she  was  dead,  and  was  now  walking 
up  and  down  the  street,  like  one  waiting.  She  sent 
her  children  out  to  him,  but  he  would  not  come  up. 
He  had  answered  Tommy  roughly,  but  when  Elspeth 
slipped  her  hand  into  his,  he  let  it  stay  there,  and  he 
instructed  her  to  tell  Jean  Myles  that  he  would  bury 
her  in  the  Thrums  cemetery  and  bring  up  her  bairns. 
Jean  managed  once  to  go  to  the  window  and  look  down 
at  him,  and  by  and  by  he  looked  up  and  saw  her. 
They  looked  long  at  each  other,  and  then  he  turned 
away  his  head  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  again. 

At  Tilliedrum  the  coffin  was  put  into  a hearse  and 
thus  conveyed  to  Monypenny,  Aaron  and  the  two 


142 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


children  sitting  on  the  box-seat.  Someone  said,  "Jean 
Myles  boasted  that  when  she  came  back  to  Thrums  it 
would  be  in  her  carriage  and  pair,  and  she  has  kept  her 
word,”  and  the  saying  is  still  preserved  in  that  Bible 
for  week-days  of  which  all  little  places  have  their 
unwritten  copy,  one  of  the  wisest  of  books,  but  nearly 
every  text  in  it  has  cost  a life. 

About  a score  of  men  put  on  their  blacks  and  followed 
the  hearse  from  the  warper’s  house  to  the  grave. 
Elspeth  wanted  to  accompany  Tommy,  but  Aaron  held 
her  back,  saying,  quietly,  "In  this  part,  it’s  only  men 
that  go  to  burials,  so  you  and  me  maun  bide  at  hame,” 
and  then  she  cried,  no  one  understood  why,  except 
Tommy.  It  was  because  he  would  see  Thrums  first; 
but  he  whispered  to  her,  "I  promise  to  keep  my  eyes 
shut  and  no  look  once,”  and  so  faithfully  did  he  keep 
his  promise  on  the  whole  that  the  smith  held  him  by 
the  hand  most  of  the  way,  under  the  impression  that  he 
was  blind. 

But  he  had  opened  his  eyes  at  the  grave,  when  a cord 
was  put  into  his  hand,  and  then  he  wept  passionately, 
and  on  his  way  back  to  Monypenny,  whether  his  eyes 
were  open  or  shut,  what  he  saw  was  his  mother  being 
shut  up  in  a black  hole  and  trying  for  ever  and  ever  to 
get  out.  He  ran  to  Elspeth  for  comfort,  but  in  the 
meantime  she  had  learned  from  Blinder’s  niece  that 
graves  are  dark  and  cold,  and  so  he  found  her  sobbing 
even  like  himself.  Tommy  could  never  bear  to  see 


+ 


A child’s  tragedy 


14b 


Elspeth  crying,  and  he  revealed  his  true  self  in  his 
way  of  drying  her  tears. 

“It  will  be  so  cold  in  that  hole,”  she  sobbed. 

“No,”  he  said,  “it  ’s  warm.” 

“It  will  be  dark.” 

“No,  it ’s  clear.” 

“ She  would  like  to  get  out.” 

“No,  she  was  terrible  pleased  to  get  in.” 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  soon  had  Elspeth 
happy  by  arguments  not  one  of  which  he  believed  him- 
self; characteristic  also  that  his  own  grief  was  soothed 
by  the  sound  of  them.  Aaron,  who  was  in  the  garret 
preparing  their  bed,  had  told  the  children  that  they 
must  remain  indoors  to-day  out  of  respect  to  their 
mother’s  memory  (to-morrow  morning  they  could  ex 
plore  Thrums);  but  there  were  many  things  in  that 
kitchen  for  them  to  look  at  and  exult  over.  It  had 
no  commonplace  ceiling,  the  couples,  or  rafters,  being 
covered  with  the  loose  flooring  of  a romantic  garret, 
and  in  the  rafters  were  several  great  hooks,  from  one 
of  which  hung  a ham,  and  Tommy  remembered,  with 
a thrill  which  he  communicated  to  Elspeth,  that  it  is 
the  right  of  Thrums  children  to  snip  off  the  ham  as 
much  as  they  can  remove  with  their  finger-nails  and 
roast  it  on  the  ribs  of  the  fire.  The  chief  pieces  of 
furniture  were  a dresser,  a corner  cupboard  with 
diamond  panes,  two  tables,  one  of  which  stood  beneath 
the  other  but  would  have  to  come  out  if  Aaron  tried  to 


144 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


bake,  and  a bed  with  a door.  These  two  did  not  know 
it,  but  the  room  was  full  of  memories  of  Jean  Myles. 
The  corner  cupboard  had  been  bought  by  Aaron  at  a 
roup  because  she  said  she  would  like  to  have  one;  it 
was  she  who  had  chosen  the  six  cups  and  saucers  with 
the  blue  spots  on  them.  A razor-strop,  now  hard  as 
iron,  hung  on  a nail  on  the  wall ; it  had  not  been  used 
since  the  last  time  Aaron  strutted  through  the  Den 
with  his  sweetheart.  One  day  later  he  had  opened  the 
door  of  the  bird-cage,  which  still  stood  in  the  window, 
and  let  the  yellow  yite  go.  Many  things  were  where 
no  woman  would  have  left  them:  clothes  on  the  floor 
with  the  nail  they  had  torn  from  the  wall;  on  a chair 
a tin  basin,  soapy  water  and  a flannel  rag  in  it;  horn 
spoons  with  whistles  at  the  end  of  them  were  anywhere 
— on  the  mantelpiece,  beneath  the  bed;  there  were 
drawers  that  could  not  be  opened  because  their  handles 
were  inside.  Perhaps  the  windows  were  closed  hope- 
lessly also,  but  this  must  be  left  doubtful ; no  one  had 
ever  tried  to  open  them. 

The  garret  where  Tommy  and  Elspeth  were  to  sleep 
was  reached  by  a ladder  from  the  hallan;  when  you 
were  near  the  top  of  the  ladder  your  head  hit  a trap- 
door and  pushed  it  open.  At  one  end  of  the  garret  was 
the  bed,  and  at  the  other  end  were  piled  sticks  for  fire- 
wood and  curious  dark -colored  slabs  whose  smell  the 
children  disliked  until  Tommy  said,  excitedly,  “Peat!* 
and  then  they  sniffed  reverently. 


A child’s  tragedy 


145 


It  was  Tommy,  too,  who  discovered  the  tree-tops  of 
the  Den,  and  Elspeth  seeing  him  gazing  in  a transport 
out  at  the  window  cried,  “ What  is  it,  Tommy  ? 
Quick!  ” 

“ Promise  no  to  scream,”  he  replied,  warningly. 
“Well,  then,  Elspeth  Sandys,  that’s  where  the  Den 
is!  ” 

Elspeth  blinked  with  awe,  and  anon  said,  wistfully, 
“ Tommy,  do  you  see  that  there  ? That ’s  where  the 
Den  is!  ” 

“It  were  me  what  told  you,”  cried  Tommy,  jealously* 

“But  let  me  tell  you,  Tommy!” 

“Well,  then,  you  can  tell  me.” 

“That  there  is  the  Den,  Tommy!” 

“Dagont!  ” 

Oh,  that  to-morrow  were  here!  Oh,  that  Shovel 
could  see  these  two  to-morrow! 

Here  is  another  splendid  game,  T.  Sandys,  inventor. 
The  girl  goes  into  the  bed,  the  boy  shuts  the  door  on 
her,  and  imitates  the  sound  of  a train  in  motion.  He 
opens  the  door  and  cries,  “Tickets,  please.”  The  girl 
says,  “ What  is  the  name  of  this  place  ? ” The  boy 
replies,  “It’s  Thrums!”  There  is  more  to  follow,  but 
the  only  two  who  have  played  the  game  always  roared 
so  joyously  at  this  point  that  they  could  get  no  farther. 

“Oh,  to-morrow,  come  quick,  quick!” 

“ Oh,  poor  Shovel ! ” 

To-morrow  came,  and  with  it  two  eager  little  figures 

10 


146 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


rose  and  gulped  their  porridge,  and  set  off  to  see 
Thrums.  They  were  dressed  in  the  black  clothes  Aaron 
Latta  had  bought  for  them  in  London,  and  they  had 
agreed  just  to  walk,  but  when  they  reached  the  door 
and  saw  the  tree-tops  of  the  Den  they  — they  ram 
Would  you  not  like  to  hold  them  back  ? It  is  a child’s 
tragedy. 

They  went  first  into  the  Den,  and  the  rocks  were 
dripping  wet,  all  the  trees,  save  the  firs,  were  bare, 
and  the  mud  round  a tiny  spring  pulled  off  one  of 
Elspeth’s  boots. 

“ Tommy, ” she  cried,  quaking,  “ that  narsty  puddle 
can’t  not  be  the  Cuttle  Well,  can  it?” 

“ No,  it  ain’t,”  said  Tommy,  quickly,  but  he  feared 
It  was. 

“It’s  c-c-colder  here  than  London,”  Elspeth  said, 
shivering,  and  Tommy  was  shivering  too,  but  he 
answered,  “I’m  — I’m  — I ’m  warm.” 

The  Den  was  strangely  small,  and  soon  they  were  on 
a shabby  brae  where  women  in  short  gowns  came  to 
their  doors  and  men  in  night-caps  sat  down  on  the 
shafts  of  their  barrows  to  look  at  Jean  Myles’s  bairns. 

“ What  does  yer  think  ? ” Elspeth  whispered,  very 
doubtfully. 

“They’re  beauties,”  Tommy  answered,  determinedly. 

Presently  Elspeth  cried,  “Oh,  Tommy,  what  a ugly 
stair!  Where  is  the  beauty  stairs  as  is  wore  outside 
for  show  ? ” 


A CHILD  S TRAGEDY 


14" 


This  was  one  of  them  and  Tommy  knew  it.  “Wait 
till  you  see. the  west  town  end,”  he  said  bravely;  “it’s 
grand.”  But  when  they  were  in  the  west  town  end, 
and  he  had  to  admit  it,  “Wait  till  you  see  the  square,” 
he  said,  and  when  they  were  in  the  square,  “Wait,”  he 
said,  huskily,  “till  you  see  the  town-house.”  Alas, 
this  wap  the  town-house  facing  them,  and  when  they 
knew  it,  he  said  hurriedly,  “Wait  till  you  see  the 
Auld  Licht  Kirk.” 

They  stood  long  in  front  of  the  Auld  Licht  Kirk, 
which  he  had  sworn  was  bigger  and  lovelier  than  Sto 
Paul's,  but  — well,  it  is  a different  style  of  architecture, 
and  had  Elspeth  not  been  there  with  tears  in  waiting, 
Tommy  would  have  blubbered.  “ It  's  — it 's  littler 
than  I thought,”  he  said  desperately,  “but  — the 
minister,  oh,  what  a wonderful  big  man  he  is l” 

“ Are  you  sure  ? ” Elspeth  squeaked, 

“I  swear  he  is.” 

The  church  door  opened  and  a gentleman  came  out, 
a little  man,  boyish  in  the  back,  with  the  eager  face  of 
those  who  live  too  quickly.  But  it  was  not  at  him  that 
Tommy  pointed  reassuringly;  it  was  at  the  monster 
church  key,  half  of  which  protruded  from  his  tail 
pocket  and  waggled  like  the  hilt  of  a sword. 

Speaking  like  an  old  residenter,  Tommy  explained 
that  he  had  brought  his  sister  to  see  the  church 
“She's  ta’en  aback,”  he  said,  picking  out  Scotch  words 
carefully,  “ because  it 's  littler  than  the  London  kirks, 


148 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


but  I tolled  her  — I telled  her  that  the  preaching  is 
better.” 

This  seemed  to  please  the  stranger,  for  he  patted 
Tommy  on  the  head  while  inquiring,  “How  do  you 
know  that  the  preaching  is  better?” 

“Tell  him,  Elspeth,”  replied  Tommy  modestly. 

“There  ain’t  nuthin’  as  Tommy  don’t  know,”  El- 
speth explained.  “He  knows  what  the  minister  is 
like  too.” 

“He ’s  a noble  sight,”  said  Tommy.  ' 

“He  can  get  anything  from  God  he  likes,”  said 
Elspeth. 

“He  *s  a terrible  big  man,”  said  Tommy. 

This  seemed  to  please  the  little  gentleman  less. 
“Big!”  he  exclaimed,  irritably;  “why  should  he  be 
big?” 

“He  is  big,”  Elspeth  almost  screamed,  for  the 
minister  was  her  last  hope. 

“Nonsense!”  said  the  little  gentleman.  “He  is  — 
well,  I am  the  minister.” 

“You!”  roared  Tommy,  wrathfully. 

“ Oh,  oh,  oh ! ” sobbed  Elspeth. 

For  a moment  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dishart  looked  as  if  he 
would  like  to  knock  two  little  heads  together,  but  he 
walked  away  without  doing  it. 

“ Never  mind,”  Tommy  whispered  hoarsely  to  Elspeth. 
“Never  mind,  Elspeth,  you  have  me  yet.” 

This  consolation  seldom  failed  to  gladden  her,  but 


A child’s  tragedy 


149 


her  disappointment  was  so  sharp  to-day  that  she  would 
not  even  look  up. 

“Come  away  to  the  cemetery,  it’s  grand,”  he  said; 
but  still  she  would  not  be  comforted. 

“And  I ’ll  let  you  hold  my  hand  — as  soon  as  we  ’re 
past  the  houses,”  he  added. 

“I  ’ll  let  you  hold  it  now,”  he  said  eventually;  but 
even  then  Elspeth  cried  dismally,  and  her  sobs  were 
hurting  him  more  than  her. 

He  knew  all  the  ways  of  getting  round  Elspeth,  and 
when  next  he  spoke  it  was  with  a sorrowful  dignity. 
“1  didna  think,”  he  said,  “as  yer  wanted  me  never  to 
be  able  to  speak  again;  no,  I didna  think  it,  Elspeth.” 

She  took  her  hands  from  her  face  and  looked  at  him 
inquiringly. 

“One  of  the  stories  mamma  telled  me  and  Keddy,” 
he  said,  “ were  about  a man  what  saw  such  a beauty 
thing  that  he  was  struck  dumb  with  admiration.  Struck 
dumb  is  never  to  be  able  to  speak  again,  and  I wish  I 
had  been  struck  dumb  when  you  wanted  it.” 

“But  I didn’t  want  it!”  Elspeth  cried. 

“ If  Thrums  had  been  one  little  bit  beautier  than  it 
is,”  he  went  on  solemnly,  “it  would  have  struck  me 
dumb.  It  would  have  hurt  me  sore,  but  what  about 
that,  if  it  pleased  you!” 

Then  did  Elspeth  see  what  a wicked  girl  she  had 
been,  and  when  next  the  two  were  observed  by  the 
curious  (it  was  on  the  cemetery  road),  they  were  once 


150 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


more  looking  cheerful.  At  the  smallest  provocation 
they  exchanged  notes  of  admiration,  such  as,  “Oh, 
Tommy,  what  a bonny  barrel !”  or  “Oh,  Elspeth,  I teD 
yer  that’s  a dyke,  and  there  ’s  just  walls  in  London,” 
but  sometimes  Elspeth  would  stoop  hastily,  pretending 
that  she  wanted  to  tie  her  bootlace,  but  really  to  brush 
away  a tear,  and  there  were  moments  when  Tommy 
hung  very  limp.  Each  was  trying  to  deceive  the  other 
for  the  other’s  sake,  and  one  of  them  was  never  good  at 
deception.  They  saw  through  each  other,  yet  kept  up 
the  chilly  game,  because  they  could  think  of  nothing 
better,  and  perhaps  the  game  was  worth  playing,  for 
love  invented  it. 

They  sat  down  on  their  mother’s  grave.  No  stone 
was  ever  erected  to  the  memory  of  Jean  Myles,  but  it 
is  enough  for  her  that  she  lies  at  home.  That  comfort 
will  last  her  to  the  Judgment  Day. 

The  man  who  had  dug  the  grave  sent  them  away,  and 
they  wandered  to  the  hill,  and  thence  down  the  Roods, 
where  there  were  so  many  outside  stairs  not  put  there 
for  show  that  it  was  well  Elspeth  remembered  how 
susceptible  Tommy  was  to  being  struck  dumb.  For 
her  sake  he  said,  “They’re  bonny,”  and  for  his  sake 
she  replied,  “I’m  glad  they  ain’t  bonnier.” 

When  within  one  turn  of  Monypenny  they  came  sud- 
denly upon  some  boys  playing  at  capey-dykey,  a game 
with  marbles  that  is  only  known  in  Thrums.  There 
are  thirty-five  ways  of  playing  marbles,  but  this  is  the 


A child’s  tragedy 


151 


best  way,  and  Elspeth  knew  that  Tommy  was  hunger- 
ing to  look  on,  but  without  her,  lest  he  should  be 
accused  of  sweethearting.  So  she  offered  to  remain  in 
the  background. 

Was  she  sure  she  should  n't  mind  ? 

She  said  falteringly  that  of  course  she  would  mind  a 
little,  but 

Then  Tommy  was  irritated,  and  said  he  knew  she 
would  mind,  but  if  she  just  pretended  she  did  n’t  mind, 
he  could  leave  her  without  feeling  that  he  was  mean. 

So  Elspeth  affected  not  to  mind,  and  then  he  deserted 
her,  conscience  at  rest,  which  was  his  nature.  But  he 
should  have  remained  with  her.  The  players  only  gave 
him  the  side  of  their  eye,  and  a horrid  fear  grew  on 
him  that  they  did  not  know  he  was  a Thrums  boy. 
“Dagont!”  he  cried  to  put  them  right  on  that  point, 
but  though  they  paused  in  their  game,  it  was  only  to 
laugh  at  him  uproariously.  Let  the  historian  use  an 
oath  for  once;  dagont,  Tommy  had  said  the  swear  in 
the  wrong  place! 

How  fond  he  had  been  of  that  word ! Many  a time 
he  had  fired  it  in  the  face  of  Londoners,  and  the  flash 
had  often  blinded  them  and  always  him.  Now  he  had 
brought  it  home,  and  Thrums  would  have  none  of  it; 
it  was  as  if  these  boys  were  jeering  at  their  own  flag. 
He  tottered  away  from  them  until  he  came  fco  a trance, 
or  passage,  where  he  put  his  face  to  the  wall  and  forgot 
even  Elspeth. 


152 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


He  had  not  noticed  a girl  pass  the  mouth  of  the 
trance,  trying  not  very  successfully  to  conceal  a brandy- 
bottle  beneath  her  pinafore,  but  presently  he  heard 
shouts,  and  looking  out  he  saw  Grizel,  the  Painted 
Lady’s  child,  in  the  hands  of  her  tormentors.  She  was 
unknown  to  him,  of  course,  but  she  hit  back  so  cour- 
ageously that  he  watched  her  with  interest,  until  — 
until  suddenly  he  retreated  farther  into  the  trance.  He 
had  seen  Elspeth  go  on  her  knees,  obviously  to  ask  God 
to  stay  the  hands  and  tongues  of  these  cruel  boys. 

Elspeth  had  disgraced  him,  he  felt.  He  was  done 
with  her  forever.  If  they  struck  her,  serve  her  right. 

Struck  her!  Struck  little  Elspeth  I His  imagination 
painted  the  picture  with  one  sweep  of  its  brush.  Take 
care,  you  boys,  Tommy  is  scudding  back. 

They  had  not  molested  Elspeth  as  yet.  When  they 
saw  and  heard  her  praying,  they  had  bent  forward, 
agape,  as  if  struck  suddenly  in  the  stomach.  Then  one 
of  them,  Prancie  Crabb,  the  golden-haired  son  of  Esther 
Auld,  recovered  and  began  to  knead  Grizel’s  back  with 
his  fists,  less  in  viciousness  than  to  show  that  the 
prayer  was  futile.  Into  this  scene  sprang  Tommy,  and 
he  thought  that  Elspeth  was  the  kneaded  one.  Had  he 
taken  time  to  reflect  he  would  probably  have  used  the 
Thrums  feint,  and  then  in  with  a left-hander,  which  is 
not  very  efficacious  in  its  own  country;  but  being  in  a 
hurry  he  let  out  with  Shovel’s  favorite,  and  down  went 
Francie  Crabb. 


A child’s  tragedy 


153 


“ Would  you!”  said  Tommy,  threatening,  when 
Francie  attempted  to  rise. 

He  saw  now  that  Elspeth  was  untouched,  that  he  had 
rescued  an  unknown  girl,  and  it  cannot  be  pretended  of 
him  that  he  was  the  boy  to  squire  all  ladies  in  distress. 
In  ordinary  circumstances  he  might  have  left  Grizel  to 
her  fate,  but  having  struck  for  her,  he  felt  that  he 
would  like  to  go  on  striking.  He  had  also  the  day’s 
disappointments  to  avenge.  It  is  startling  to  reflect 
that  the  little  minister’s  height,  for  instance,  put  an 
extra  kick  in  him. 

So  he  stood  stridelegs  over  Francie,  who  whimpered, 
“I  wouldna  have  struck  this  one  if  that  one  hadna 
prayed  for  me.  It  wasna  likely  I would  stand  that.” 

“You  shall  stand  it,”  replied  Tommy,  and  turning  to 
Elspeth,  who  had  risen  from  her  knees,  he  said : “ Pray 
away,  Elspeth.” 

Elspeth  refused,  feeling  that  there  would  be  some- 
thing wrong  in  praying  from  triumph,  and  Tommy, 
about  to  be  very  angry  with  her,  had  a glorious  inspira- 
tion. “Pray  for  yourself,”  he  said  to  Francie,  “and  do 
it  out  loud.” 

The  other  boys  saw  that  a novelty  promised,  and  now 
Francie  need  expect  no  aid  from  them.  At  first  he 
refused  to  pray,  but  he  succumbed  when  Tommy  had 
explained  the  consequences,  and  illustrated  them. 

Tommy  dictated:  “Oh,  God,  I am  a sinner.  Go  on.” 

Francie  not  only  said  it,  but  looked  it. 


154 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“And  I pray  to  you  to  repent  me,  though  I ain’t 
worthy,”  continued  Tommy. 

“And  I pray  to  you  to  repent  me,  though  I ain’t 
worthy,”  growled  Francie.  (It  was  the  arrival  of  ain’t 
in  Thrums.) 

Tommy  considered,  and  then:  “I  thank  Thee,  0 
God,”  he  said,  “for  telling  this  girl  — this  lassie—  to 
pray  for  me.” 

Two  gentle  taps  helped  to  knock  this  out  of  Francie. 

Being  an  artist,  Tommy  had  kept  his  best  for  the 
end  (and  made  it  up  first).  “And  lastly,”  he  said,  “I 
thank  this  boy  for  thrashing  me  — I mean  this  here 
laddie.  Oh,  may  he  alius  be  near  to  thrash  me  when  I 
strike  this  other  lassie  again.  Amen.” 

When  it  was  all  over  Tommy  looked  around  trium- 
phantly, and  though  he  liked  the  expression  on  several 
faces,  Grizel’s  pleased  him  best.  “It  ain’t  no  wonder 
you  would  like  to  be  me,  lassie ! ” he  said,  in  an 
ecstasy. 

“I  don’t  want  to  be  you,  you  conceited  boy,”  retorted 
the  Painted  Lady’s  child  hotly,  and  her  heat  was  the 
greater  because  the  clever  little  wretch  had  read  her 
thoughts  aright.  But  it  was  her  sweet  voice  that 
surprised  him. 

“You’re  English!”  he  cried. 

“So  are  you,”  broke  in  a boy  offensively,  and  then 
Tommy  said  to  Grizel  loftily,  “Kun  away;  I ’ll  not  let 
none  on  them  touch  you.” 


A child’s  tragedy 


155 


“I  am  not  afraid  of  them,”  she  rejoined,  with  scorn, 
“and  I shall  not  let  you  help  me,  and  I won’t  run.* 
And  run  she  did  not;  she  walked  off  leisurely  with  hei 
head  in  the  air,  and  her  dignity  was  beautiful,  except 
once  when  she  made  the  mistake  of  turning  round  to 
put  out  her  tongue. 

But,  alas ! in  the  end  someone  ran.  If  only  they  had 
not  called  him  “English.”  In  vain  he  fired  a volley  of 
Scotch;  they  pretended  not  to  understand  it.  Then  he 
screamed  that  he  and  Shovel  could  fight  the  lot  of 
them.  Who  was  Shovel  ? they  asked  derisively.  He 
replied  that  Shovel  was  a bloke  who  could  lick  any  two 
of  them  — and  with  one  hand  tied  behind  his  back. 

No  sooner  had  he  made  this  proud  boast  than  he  went 
white,  and  soon  two  disgraceful  tears  rolled  down  his 
cheeks.  The  boys  saw  that  for  some  reason  unknown 
his  courage  was  gone,  and  even  Francie  Crabb  began  to 
turn  up  his  sleeves  and  spit  upon  his  hands. 

Elspeth  was  as  bewildered  as  the  others,  but  she 
slipped  her  hand  into  his  and  away  they  ran  ingloriously, 
the  foe  too  much  astounded  to  jeer.  She  sought  to 
comfort  him  by  saying  (and  it  brought  her  a step  nearer 
womanhood),  “You  wasn’t  feared  for  yourself,  you 
wasn’t;  you  was  just  feared  they  would  hurt  me.” 

But  Tommy  sobbed  in  reply,  “That  ain’t  it.  I 
bounced  so  much  about  the  Thrums  folk  to  Shovel,  and 
now  the  first  day  I ’m  here  I heard  myself  bouncing 
about  Shovel  to  Thrums  folk,  and  it  were  that  what 


156 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


made  me  cry.  Oh,  Elspeth,  it ’ s — it  *s  not  the  same 
what  I thought  it  would  be!” 

Nor  was  it  the  same  to  Elspeth,  so  they  sat  down  by 
the  roadside  and  cried  with  their  arms  round  each 
other,  and  any  passer-by  could  look  who  had  the  heart. 
But  when  night  came,  and  they  were  in  their  garret 
bed,  Tommy  was  once  more  seeking  to  comfort  Elspeth 
with  arguments  he  disbelieved,  and  again  he  succeeded. 
As  usual,  too,  the  make-believe  made  him  happy  also. 

“Have  you  forgot,”  he  whispered,  “that  my  mother 
said  as  she  would  come  and  see  us  every  night  in  our 
bed?  If  yer  cries,  she  ’ll  see  as  we  ’re  terrible  unhappy, 
and  that  will  make  her  unhappy  too.” 

“ Oh,  Tommy,  is  she  here  now  ? ” 

“Whisht!  She’s  here,  but  they  don’t  like  living 
ones  to  let  on  as  they  knows  it.” 

Elspeth  kept  closer  to  Tommy,  and  with  their  heads 
beneath  the  blankets,  so  as  to  stifle  the  sound,  he 
explained  to  her  how  they  could  cheat  their  mother. 
When  she  understood,  he  took  the  blankets  off  their 
faces  and  said  in  the  darkness  in  a loud  voice: 

“ It ’s  a grand  place,  Thrums ! ” 

Elspeth  replied  in  a similar  voice,  “ Ain’t  the  town- 
house  just  big ! ” 

Said  Tommy,  almost  chuckling,  u Oh,  the  bonny,  bonny 
Auld  Licht  Kirk!” 

Said  Elspeth,  “ Oh,  the  beauty  outside  stairs ! r% 

Said  Tawny,  “ The  minister  is  so  long ! ” 


A child’s  tragedy 


157 


Said  Elspeth,  “ The  folk  is  so  kind ! 99 

Said  Tommy,  “ Especially  the  laddies! 99 

Oh,  I is  so  happy  ! ” cried  Elspeth. 

Me  too! ” cried  Tommy. 

“ My  mother  would  be  so  chirpy  if  she  could  jest  see 
us ! ” Elspeth  said,  quite  archly. 

“ But  she  canna ! ” replied  Tommy,  slyly  pinching 
Elspeth  in  the  rib. 

Then  they  dived  beneath  the  blankets,  and  the  whis 
pering  was  resumed. 

“ Did  she  hear,  does  yer  think  ?”  asked  Elspeth. 

“ Every  word,”  Tommy  replied.  “ Elspeth,  we’ve 
done  her ! 99 


CHAPTER  XIII 


SHOWS  HOW  TOMMY  TOOK  CARE  OF  ELSPETH 

Thus  the  first  day  passed,  and  others  followed  in 
which  women,  who  had  known  Jean  Myles,  did  her  chil- 
dren kindnesses,  but  could  not  do  all  they  would  have 
done,  for  Aaron  forbade  them  to  enter  his  home  except 
on  business  though  it  was  begging  for  a housewife  all 
day.  Had  Elspeth  at  the  age  of  six  now  settled  down 
to  domestic  duties  she  would  not  have  been  the  youngest 
housekeeper  ever  known  in  Thrums,  but  she  was  never 
very  good  at  doing  things,  only  at  loving  and  being 
loved,  and  the  observant  neighbors  thought  her  a back- 
ward girl ; they  forgot,  like  most  pecr>le,  that  service  is 
not  necessarily  a handicraft.  Tommj  discovered  what 
they  were  saying,  and  to  shield  Elspeth  j**  took  to  house- 
wifery with  the  blind  down ; but  Aaro^  entering  the 
kitchen  unexpectedly,  took  the  besom  from  him,  saying : 
“ It  ’s  an  ill  thing  for  men  folk  to  ken  ower  muckle 
about  women’s  work.” 

“ You  do  it  yoursel’,”  Tommy  argued. 

“I  said  men  folk,”  replied  Aaron,  quietly. 

The  children  knew  that  remarks  of  this  sort  had  ref- 
erence to  their  mother,  of  whom  he  never  spoke  more 


HOW  TOMMY  TOOK  CARE  OP  ELSPETH  159 


directly;  indeed  he  seldom  spoke  to  them  at  all,  and 
save  when  he  was  cooking  or  giving  the  kitchen  a slovenly 
cleaning  they  saw  little  of  him.  Monypenny  had  pre- 
dicted that  their  presence  must  make  a new  man  of  him, 
but  he  was  still  unsociable  and  morose  and  sat  as  long 
as  ever  at  the  warping-mill,  of  which  he  seemed  to  have 
become  the  silent  wheel.  Tommy  and  Elspeth  always 
dropped  their  voices  when  they  spoke  of  him,  and  some- 
times when  his  mill  stopped  he  heard  one  of  them  say  to 
the  other,  “ Whisht,  he  ?s  coming ! ” Though  he  seldom 
spoke  sharply  to  them,  his  face  did  not  lose  its  loneli- 
ness at  sight  of  them.  Elspeth  was  his  favorite  (some- 
what to  the  indignation  of  both) ; they  found  this  out 
without  his  telling  them  or  even  showing  it  markedly, 
and  when  they  wanted  to  ask  anything  of  him  she  was 
deputed  to  do  it,  but  she  did  it  quavering,  and  after 
drawing  farther  away  from  him  instead  of  going  nearer. 
A dreary  life  would  have  lain  before  them  had  they  not 
been  sent  to  school. 

There  were  at  this  time  three  schools  in  Thrums,  the 
chief  of  them  ruled  over  by  the  terrible  Cathro  (called 
Knuckly  when  you  were  a street  away  from  him).  It 
was  a famous  school,  from  which  a band  of  three  or  four 
or  even  six  marched  every  autumn  to  the  universities  as 
determined  after  bursaries  as  ever  were  Highlandmen  to 
lift  cattle,  and  for  the  same  reason,  that  they  could  not 
do  without. 

A very  different  kind  of  dominie  was  Cursing  Ballin 


lt>0  SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 

gall,  who  had  been  dropped  at  Thrums  by  a travelling 
circus,  and  first  became  familiar  to  the  town  as,  carrying 
two  carpet  shoes,  two  books,  a pillow,  and  a saucepan, 
which  were  all  his  belongings,  he  wandered  from  manse 
to  manse  offering  to  write  sermons  for  the  ministers  at 
circus  prices.  That  scheme  failing,  he  was  next  seen 
looking  in  at  windows  in  search  of  a canny  calling,  and 
eventually  he  cut  one  of  his  braces  into  a pair  of  tawse, 
thus  with  a single  stroke  of  the  knife,  making  himself  a 
school-master  and  lop-sided  for  life.  His  fee  was  but  a 
penny  a week,  “ with  a bit  o’  the  swine  when  your  father 
kills,”  and  sometimes  there  were  so  many  pupils  on  a 
form  that  they  could  only  rise  as  one.  During  the  first 
half  of  the  scholastic  day  Ballingall’s  shouts  and  pounces 
were  for  parents  to  listen  to,  but  after  his  dinner  of 
crowdy,  which  is  raw  meal  and  hot  water,  served  in  a 
cogie,  or  wooden  bowl,  languor  overcame  him  and  he 
would  sleep,  having  first  given  out  a sum  in  arithmetic 
and  announced : 

“ The  one  as  finds  out  the  answer  first,  I *11  give  him 
his  licks.” 

Last  comes  the  Hanky  School,  which  was  for  the  gen- 
teel and  for  the  common  who  contemplated  soaring. 
You  were  not  admitted  to  it  in  corduroys  or  barefooted, 
nor  did  you  pay  weekly;  no,  your  father  called  four 
times  a year  with  the  money  in  an  envelope.  He  was 
shown  into  the  blue-and-white  room,  and  there,  after 
business  had  been  transacted,  very  nervously  on  Miss 


HOW  TOMMY  TOOK  CARE  OP  ELSPETH  161 

Ailie’s  part,  she  offered  him  his  choice  between  ginger 
wine  and  what  she  falteringly  called  wh-wh-whiskey. 
He  partook  in  the  polite  national  manner,  which  is  thus : 
“ You  will  take  something,  Mr.  Cortachy  ?” 

“No,  I thank  you,  ma’am.” 

“ A little  ginger  wine  ? ” 

“It  agrees  ill  with  me.” 

“ Then  a little  wh-wh-whiskey  ? " 

“ You  are  ower  kind.” 

“ Then  may  I ? ” 

“ I am  not  heeding.” 

“ Perhaps,  though,  you  don’t  take  ? ” 

“ I can  take  it  or  want  it.” 

“ Is  that  enough  ? * 

“ It  will  do  perfectly.” 

“Shall  I fill  it  up?” 

“ As  you  please,  ma’am.” 

Miss  Ailie’s  relationship  to  the  magerful  man  may  be 
remembered ; she  shuddered  to  think  of  it  herself,  for  in 
middle-age  she  retained  the  mind  of  a young  girl,  but 
when  duty  seemed  to  call,  this  school-mistress  could  be 
brave,  and  she  offered  to  give  Elspeth  her  schooling  free 
of  charge.  Like  the  other  two  hers  was  a “mixed” 
school,  but  she  did  not  want  Tommy,  because  she  had 
seen  him  in  the  square  one  day,  and  there  was  a leer  on 
his  face  that  reminded  her  of  his  father. 

Another  woman  was  less  particular.  This  was  Mrs. 

Crabb,  of  the  Tappit  Hen,  the  Esther  Auld  whom  Jean 

11 


162 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Myles’s  letters  had  so  frequently  sent  to  bed.  Her 
Francie  was  still  a pupil  of  Miss  Ailie,  and  still  he  wore 
the  golden  hair,  which,  despite  all  advice,  she  would  not 
crop.  It  was  so  beautiful  that  no  common  boys  could 
see  it  without  wanting  to  give  it  a tug  in  passing,  and 
partly  to  prevent  this,  partly  to  show  how  high  she  had 
risen  in  the  social  scale,  Esther  usually  sent  him  to 
school  under  the  charge  of  her  servant  lass.  She  now 
proposed  to  Aaron  that  this  duty  should  devolve  on 
Tommy,  and  for  the  service  she  would  pay  his  fees  at 
the  Hanky  School. 

u We  maun  all  lend  a hand  to  poor  Jean’s  bairns,”  she 
said,  with  a gleam  in  her  eye.  “ It  would  have  been 
well  for  her,  Aaron,  if  she  had  married  you.” 

“ Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  ? ” asked  the  warper,  who 
had  let  her  enter  no  farther  than  the  hallan. 

“ I would  expect  him  to  lift  Francie  ower  the  pools  in 
wet  weather ; and  it  might  be  as  well  if  he  called  him 
Master  Francie.” 

“ Is  that  all  ? ” 

“ Ay,  I ask  no  more,  for  we  maun  all  help  J ean’s  bairns. 
If  she  could  only  look  down,  Aaron,  and  see  her  little 
velvets,  as  she  called  him,  lifting  my  little  corduroys 
ower  the  pools ! ” 

Aaron  flung  open  the  door.  “ Munt ! ” he  said,  and  he 
looked  so  dangerous  that  she  retired  at  once.  He  sent 
Tommy  to  Ballingall’s,  and  accepted  Miss  Ailie’s  offer 
for  Elspeth,  but  this  was  an  impossible  arrangement, 


HOW  TOMMY  TOOK  CARE  OF  ELSPETH  163 


for  it  was  known  to  the  two  persons  primarily  concerned 
that  Elspeth  would  die  if  she  was  not  where  Tommy 
was.  The  few  boys  he  had  already  begun  to  know  were 
at  Cathro’s  or  Ballingall’s,  and  as  they  called  Miss  Ailie’s 
a lassie  school  he  had  no  desire  to  attend  it,  but  where 
he  was  there  also  must  Elspeth  be.  Daily  he  escaped 
from  Ball  ingall’s  and  hid  near  the  Dovecot,  as  Miss 
Ailie’s  house  was  called,  and  every  little  while  he  gave 
vent  to  Shovel’s  whistle,  so  that  Elspeth  might  know  of 
his  proximity  and  be  cheered.  Thrice  was  he  carried 
back,  kicking,  to  Ballingall’s  by  urchins  sent  in  pursuit, 
stern  ministers  of  justice  on  the  first  two  occasions  $ but 
on  the  third  they  made  him  an  offer : if  he  would  hide 
in  Couthie’s  hen-house  they  were  willing  to  look  for  him 
everywhere  else  for  two  hours. 

Tommy’s  behavior  seemed  beautiful  to  the  impres- 
sionable Miss  Ailie,  but  it  infuriated  Aaron,  and  on  the 
fourth  day  he  set  off  for  the  parish  school,  meaning  to 
put  the  truant  in  the  hands  of  Cathro,  from  whom  there 
was  no  escape.  Vainly  had  Elspeth  implored  him  to 
let  Tommy  come  to  the  Dovecot,  and  vainly  apparently 
was  she  trotting  at  his  side  now,  looking  up  appealingly 
in  his  face.  But  when  they  reached  the  gate  of  the 
parish  school-yard  he  walked  past  it  because  she  was 
tugging  him,  and  always  when  he  seemed  about  to 
turn  she  took  his  hand  again,  and  he  seemed  to  have 
lost  the  power  to  resist  Jean  Myles’s  bairn.  So  they 
came  to  the  Dovecot,  and  Miss  Ailie  gained  a pupil 


164 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


who  had  been  meant  for’Cathro.  Tommy’s  arms  were 
stronger  than  Elspeth’s,  but  they  could  not  have  done 
as  much  for  him  that  day. 

Thus  did  the  two  children  enter  upon  the  genteel  ca- 
reer, to  the  indignation  of  the  other  boys  and  girls  of 
Monypenny,  all  of  whom  were  commoners. 


CHAPTER  XIV 


THE  HANKY  SCHOOL 

The  .Dovecot  was  a prim  little  cottage  standing 
back  from  the  steepest  brae  in  Thrums  and  hidden  by 
high  garden  walls,  to  the  top  of  which  another  boy’s 
shoulders  were,  for  apple-lovers,  but  one  step  up.  Jar- 
gonelle trees  grew  against  the  house,  stretching  their 
arms  round  it  as  if  to  measure  its  girth,  and  it  was  also 
remarkable  for  several  “ dumb ” windows  with  the  most 
artful  blinds  painted  on  them.  Miss  Ailie’s  fruit  was 
famous,  but  she  loved  her  flowers  best,  and  for  long  a 
notice  board  in  her  garden  said,  appealingly : " Persons 
who  come  to  steal  the  fruit  are  requested  not  to  walk 
on  the  flower-beds.”  It  was  that  old  bachelor,  Dr.  Mc- 
Queen, who  suggested  this  inscription  to  her,  and  she 
could  never  understand  why  he  chuckled  every  time 
he  read  it. 

There  were  seven  rooms  in  the  house,  but  only  two 
were  of  public  note,  the  school-room,  which  was  down- 
stairs, and  the  blue-and-white  room  above.  The  school- 
room was  so  long  that  it  looked  very  low  in  the  ceiling, 
and  it  had  a carpet,  and  on  the  walls  were  texts  as  well  as 
maps.  Miss  Ailie’s  desk  was  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 


166 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


and  there  was  another  desk  in  the  corner ; a cloth  had 
been  hung  over  it,  as  one  covers  a cage  to  send  the  bird 
to  sleep.  Perhaps  Miss  Ailie  thought  that  a bird  had 
once  sung  there,  for  this  had  been  the  desk  of  her  sister, 
Miss  Kitty,  who  died  years  before  Tommy  came  to 
Thrums.  Dainty  Miss  Kitty,  Miss  Kitty  with  the 
roguish  curls,  it  is  strange  to  think  that  you  are  dead, 
and  that  only  Miss  Ailie  hears  you  singing  now  at  your 
desk  in  the  corner ! Miss  Kitty  never  sang  there,  but 
the  playful  ringlets  were  once  the  bright  thing  in  the 
room,  and  Miss  Ailie  sees  them  still,  and  they  are  a 
song  to  her. 

The  pupils  had  to  bring  handkerchiefs  to  the  Dovecot, 
which  led  to  its  being  called  the  Hanky  School,  and  in 
time  these  handkerchiefs  may  be  said  to  have  assumed  a 
religious  character,  though  their  purpose  was  merely  to 
protect  Miss  Ailie’s  carpet.  She  opened  each  scholastic 
day  by  reading  fifteen  verses  from  the  Bible,  and  then 
she  said  sternly,  “ Hankies ! ” whereupon  her  pupils 
whipped  out  their  handkerchiefs,  spread  them  on  the 
floor  and  kneeled  on  them  while  Miss  Ailie  repeated 
the  Lord’s  Prayer.  School  closed  at  four  o’clock,  again 
with  hankies. 

Only  on  great  occasions  were  the  boys  and  girls 
admitted  to  the  blue-and-white  room,  when  they  were 
given  shortbread,  but  had  to  eat  it  with  their  heads 
flung  back  so  that  no  crumbs  should  fall.  Nearly  every- 
thing in  this  room  was  blue  or  white,  or  both.  There 


IHE  HANKY  SCHOOL 


161 


were  white  blinds  and  blue  curtains,  a blue  table-cover 
and  a white  crumb-cloth,  a white  sheepskin  with  a blue 
footstool  on  it,  blue  chairs  dotted  with  white  buttons. 
Only  white  flowers  came  into  this  room,  where  there 
were  blue  vases  for  them,  not  a book  was  to  be  seen 
without  a blue  alpaca  cover.  Here  Miss  Ailie  received 
visitors  in  her  white  with  the  blue  braid,  and  enrolled 
new  pupils  in  blue  ink  with  a white  pen.  Some  laughed 
at  her,  others  remembered  that  she  must  have  something 
to  love  after  Miss  Kitty  died. 

Miss  Ailie  had  her  romance,  as  you  may  hear  by  and 
by,  but  you  would  not  have  thought  it  as  she  came  for- 
ward to  meet  you  in  the  blue-and-white  room,  trembling 
lest  your  feet  had  brought  in  mud,  but  too  much  a lady 
to  ask  you  to  stand  on  a newspaper,  as  she  would  have 
liked  dearly  to  do.  She  was  somewhat  beyond  middle- 
age,  and  stoutly,  even  squarely,  built,  which  gave  her 
a masculine  appearance ; but  she  had  grown  so  timid 
since  Miss  Kitty’s  death  that  when  she  spoke  you  felt 
that  either  her  figure  or  her  manner  must  have  been 
intended  for  someone  else.  In  conversation  she  had  a 
way  of  ending  a sentence  in  the  middle  which  gave  her 
a reputation  of  being  « thro’ither,”  though  an  artificial 
tooth  was  the  cause.  It  was  slightly  loose,  and  had  she 
not  at  times  shut  her  mouth  suddenly,  and  then  done 
something  with  her  tongue,  an  accident  might  have 
happened.  This  tooth  fascinated  Tommy,  and  once 
when  she  was  talking  he  cried,  excitedly,  “ Quick,  it  *s 


168 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


coming  !”  whereupon  her  mouth  snapped  close,  and  she 
turned  pink  in  the  blue-and-white  room. 

Nevertheless  Tommy  became  her  favorite,  and  as  he 
had  taught  himself  to  read,  after  a fashion,  in  London, 
where  his  lesson-books  were  chiefly  placards  and  the 
journal  subscribed  to  by  Shovel’s  father,  she  often  in- 
vited him  after  school  hours  to  the  blue-and-white  room, 
where  he  sat  on  a kitchen  chair  (with  his  boots  off)  and 
read  aloud,  very  slowly,  while  Miss  Ailie  knitted.  The 
volume  was  from  the  Thrums  Book  Club,  of  which  Miss 
Ailie  was  one  of  the  twelve  members.  Each  member 
contributed  a book  every  year,  and  as  their  tastes  in 
literature  differed,  all  sorts  of  books  came  into  the 
club,  and  there  was  one  member  who  invariably  gave 
a ro-ro-romance.  He  was  double-chinned  and  forty,  but 
the  school-mistress  called  him  the  dashing  young  banker, 
and  for  months  she  avoided  his  dangerous  contribution. 
But  always  there  came  a black  day  when  a desire  to 
read  the  novel  seized  her,  and  she  hurried  home  with 
it  beneath  her  rokelay.  This  year  the  dashing  banker’s 
choice  was  a lady’s  novel  called  “ I Love  My  Love  with 
an  A,”  and  it  was  a frivolous  tale,  those  being  before  the 
days  of  the  new  fiction,  with  its  grand  discovery  that 
women  have  an  equal  right  with  men  to  grow  beards. 
The  hero  had  such  a way  with  him  and  was  so  young 
(Miss  Ailie  could  not  stand  them  a day  more  than 
twenty)  that  the  school-mistress  was  enraptured  and 
scared  at  every  page,  but  she  fondly  hoped  that  Tommy 


THE  HANKY  SCHOOL 


169 


did  not  understand.  However,  he  discovered  one  day 
what  something  printed  thus,  “D — n,”  meant,  and  he 
immediately  said  the  word  with  such  unction  that  Miss 
Ailie  let  fall  her  knitting.  She  would  have  ended  the 
readings  then  had  not  Agatha  been  at  that  point  in  the 
arms  of  an  officer  who,  Miss  Ailie  felt  almost  certain, 
had  a wife  in  India,  and  so  how  could  she  rest  till  she 
knew  for  certain  ? To  track  the  officer  by  herself  was 
not  to  be  thought  of,  to  read  without  knitting  being  such 
shameless  waste  of  time,  and  it  was  decided  to  resume 
the  readings  on  a revised  plan:  Tommy  to  say  “ stroke” 
in  place  of  the  “D — ns,”  and  “ word  we  have  no  concern 
with”  instead  of  “ Darling”  and  “ Little  One.” 

Miss  Ailie  was  not  the  only  person  at  the  Dovecot 
who  admired  Tommy.  Though  in  duty  bound,  as  young 
patriots,  to  jeer  at  him  for  having  been  born  in  the 
wrong  place,  the  pupils  of  his  own  age  could  not  resist 
the  charm  of  his  reminiscences;  even  Gav  Dishart,  a 
son  of  the  manse,  listened  attentively  to  him.  His 
great  topic  was  his  birthplace,  and  whatever  happened 
in  Thrums,  he  instantly  made  contemptible  by  citing 
something  of  the  same  kind,  but  on  a larger  scale,  that 
had  happened  in  London ; he  turned  up  his  nose  almost 
farther  than  was  safe  when  they  said  Catlaw  was  a stiff 
mountain  to  climb.  (“Oh,  Gav,  if  you  just  saw  the  Lon- 
don mountains  ! ”)  Snow ! why  they  did  n’t  know  what 
snow  was  in  Thrums.  If  they  could  only  see  St.  Paul’s 
or  Hyde  Park  or  Shovel ! he  could  n’t  help  laughing  at 


170 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Thrums,  he  could  n’t  — Larfing,  he  said  at  first,  but  in  a 
short  time  his  Scotch  was  better  than  theirs,  though  less 
unconscious.  His  English  was  better  also,  of  course, 
and  you  had  to  speak  in  a kind  of  English  when  inside 
the  Hanky  School ; you  got  your  revenge  at  “ minutes.” 
On  the  whole,  Tommy  irritated  his  fellow-pupils  a good 
deal,  but  they  found  it  difficult  to  keep  ^way  from  him. 

He  also  contrived  to  enrage  the  less  genteel  boys  of 
Monypenny.  Their  leader  was  Corp  Shiach,  three  years 
Tommy’s  senior,  who  had  never  been  inside  a school  ex- 
cept once,  when  he  broke  hopefully  into  Ballingall’s  be- 
cause of  a stirring  rumor  (nothing  in  it)  that  the  dominie 
had  hangit  himself  with  his  remaining  brace;  then  in 
order  of  merit  came  Birkie  Fleemister ; then,  perhaps, 
the  smith’s  family,  called  the  Haggerty-Taggertys,  they 
were  such  slovens.  When  school  was  over  Tommy  fre^ 
quently  stepped  out  of  his  boots  and  stockings,  so  that 
he  no  longer  looked  offensively  genteel,  and  then  Mony- 
penny was  willing  to  let  him  join  in  spyo,  smuggle  bools, 
kickbonnety,  peeries,  the  preens,  suckers  pilly,  or  what- 
ever game  was  in  season,  even  to  the  baiting  of  the 
Painted  Lady,  but  they  would  not  have  Elspeth,  who 
should  have  been  content  to  play  dumps  with  the  female 
Haggerty-Taggertys,  but  could  enjoy  no  game  of  which 
Tommy  was  not  the  larger  half.  Many  times  he  deserted 
her  for  manlier  joys,  but  though  she  was  out  of  sight  he 
could  not  forget  her  longing  face,  and  soon  he  sneaked 
off  to  her ; he  upbraided  her,  but  he  stayed  with  her 


THE  HANKY  SCHOOL 


171 


They  bore  with  him  for  a time,  but  when  they  discovered 
that  she  had  persuaded  him  (after  prayer)  to  put  back 
the  spug’s  eggs  which  he  had  brought  home  in  triumph, 
then  they  drove  him  from  their  company,  and  for  a long 
time  afterwards  his  deadly  enemy  was  the  hard-hitting 
Corp  Shiach. 

Elspeth  was  not  invited  to  attend  the  readings  of  “ I 
Love  My  Love  with  an  A,”  perhaps  because  there  were 
so  many  words  in  it  that  she  had  no  concern  with,  but 
she  knew  they  ended  as  the  eight-o’clock  bell  began  to 
ring,  and  it  was  her  custom  to  meet  Tommy  a few  yards 
from  Aaron’s  door.  Farther  she  durst  not  venture  in 
the  gloaming  through  fear  of  the  Painted  Lady,  for 
Aaron’s  house  was  not  far  from  the  fearsome  lane  that 
led  to  Double  Dykes,  and  even  the  big  boys  who  made 
faces  at  this  woman  by  day  ran  from  her  in  the  dusk. 
Creepy  tales  were  told  of  what  happened  to  those  on 
whom  she  cast  a blighting  eye  before  they  could  touch 
cold  iron,  and  Tommy  was  one  of  many  who  kept  a bit 
of  cold  iron  from  the  smithy  handy  in  his  pocket.  On 
his  way  home  from  the  readings  he  never  had  occa- 
sion to  use  it,  but  at  these  times  he  sometimes  met 
Grizel,  who  liked  to  do  her  shopping  in  the  evenings 
when  her  persecutors  were  more  easily  eluded,  and  he 
forced  her  to  speak  to  him.  Not  her  loneliness  appealed 
to  him,  but  that  look  of  admiration  she  had  given  him 
when  he  was  astride  of  Francie  Crabb.  For  such  a look 
he  could  pardon  many  rebuffs ; without  it  no  praise 


172 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


greatly  pleased  him;  he  was  always  on  the  outlook 
for  it. 

" I warrant,”  he  said  to  her  one  evening,  "you  want  to 
have  some  manbody  to  take  care  of  you  the  way  I take 
care  of  Elspeth.” 

" No,  I don’t,”  she  replied,  promptly. 

" Would  you  no  like  somebody  to  love  you  ? ” 

" Do  you  mean  kissing  ? ” she  asked. 

"There’s  better  things  in  it  than  that,”  he  said 
guardedly ; " but  if  you  want  kissing,  I — I — Elspeth  ’ll 
kiss  you.” 

"Will  she  want  to  do  it?”  inquired  Grizel,  a little 
wistfully. 

" I ’ll  make  her  do  it,”  Tommy  said. 

" I don’t  want  her  to  do  it,”  cried  Grizel,  and  he  could 
not  draw  another  word  from  her.  However  he  was  sure 
she  thought  him  a wonder,  and  when  next  they  met  he 
challenged  her  with  it. 

" Do  you  not  now  ? ” 

" I won’t  tell  you,”  answered  Grizel,  who  was  never 
known  to  lie. 

"You  think  I’m  a wonder,”  Tommy  persisted,  "but 
you  dinna  want  me  to  know  you  think  it.” 

Grizel  rocked  her  arms,  a quaint  way  she  had  when 
excited,  and  she  blurted  out,  " How  do  you  know  ? ” 

The  look  he  liked  had  come  back  to  her  face,  but  he 
had  no  time  to  enjoy  it,  for  just  then  Elspeth  appeared, 
and  Elspeth’s  jealousy  was  easily  aroused. 


THE  HANKY  SCHOOL 


173 


u I dinna  ken  you,  lassie,”  he  said  coolly  to  Grizel,  and 
left  her  stamping  her  foot  at  him.  She  decided  never  to 
speak  to  Tommy  again,  but  the  next  time  they  met  he 
took  her  into  the  Den  and  taught  her  how  to  fight. 

It  is  painful  to  have  to  tell  that  Miss  Ailie  was  the 
person  who  provided  him  with  the  opportunity.  In  the 
readings  they  arrived  one  evening  at  the  scene  in  the 
conservatory,  which  has  not  a single  Stroke  in  it,  but  is 
so  full  of  Words  We  have  no  Concern  with  that  Tommy 
reeled  home  blinking,  and  next  day  so  disgracefully  did 
he  flounder  in  his  lessons  that  the  gentle  schoolmistress 
cast  up  her  arms  in  despair. 

“ I don’t  know  what  to  say  to  you,”  she  exclaimed. 

“ Fine  I know  what  you  want  to  say,”  he  retorted,  and 
unfortunately  she  asked,  “ What  ? ” 
u Stroke  ! ” he  replied,  leering  horridly. 

“ I Love  My  Love  with  an  A ” was  returned  to  the 
club  forthwith  (whether  he  really  did  have  a wife  in 
India  Miss  Ailie  never  knew)  and  “ Judd  on  the  Shorter 
Catechism  ” took  its  place.  But  mark  the  result.  The 
readings  ended  at  a quarter  to  eight  now,  at  twenty  to 
eight,  at  half-past  seven,  and  so  Tommy  could  loiter  on 
the  way  home  without  arousing  Elspeth’s  suspicion. 
One  evening  he  saw  Grizel  cutting  her  way  through  the 
Haggerty-Taggerty  group,  and  he  offered  to  come  to  her 
aid  if  she  would  say  “ Help  me.”  But  she  refused. 

When,  however,  the  Haggerty-Taggertys  were  gone 
she  condescended  to  say,  u I shall  never,  never  ask  you 


174 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


to  help  me,  but  — if  you  like  — you  can  show  me  how  to 
hit  without  biting  my  tongue.” 

“ I ’ll  learn  you  Shovel’s  curly  ones,”  replied  Tommy, 
cordially,  and  he  adjourned  with  her  to  the  Den  for  that 
purpose.  He  said  he  chose  the  Den  so  that  Corp  Shiach 
and  the  others  might  not  interrupt  them,  but  it  was 
Elspeth  he  was  thinking  of. 

“ You  are  like  Miss  Ailie  with  her  cane  when  she  is 
pandying,”  he  told  Grizel.  " You  begin  well,  but  you 
slacken  just  when  you  are  going  to  hit.” 

“It  is  because  my  hand  opens,”  Grizel  said. 

“And  then  it  ends  in  a shove,”  said  her  mentor, 
severely.  “ You  should  close  your  fists  like  this,  with 
the  thumbs  inside,  and  then  play  dab,  this  way,  that  way, 
yon  way.  That’s  what  Shovel  calls,  6 You  want  it,  take 
it,  you ’ve  got  it.’  ” 

Thus  did  the  hunted  girl  get  her  first  lesson  in  scien- 
tific warfare  in  the  Den,  and  neither  she  nor  Tommy  saw 
the  pathos  of  it.  Other  lessons  followed,  and  during  the 
rests  Grizel  told  Tommy  all  that  she  knew  about  herself. 
He  had  won  her  confidence  at  last  by  — by  swearing 
dagont  that  he  was  English  also. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  CAME 

“ Is  it  true  that  your  mother’s  a bonny  swearer  ? ” 
Tommy  wanted  to  find  out  all  about  the  Painted 
Lady,  and  the  best  way  was  to  ask. 

“She  does  not  always  swear,”  Grizel  said  eagerly. 
“She  sometimes  says  sweet,  sweet  things.” 

“ What  kind  of  things  ? ” 

“I  won’t  tell  you.” 

“Tell  me  one.” 

“Well,  then,  1 Beloved.’” 

“Word  We  have  no  Concern  with,”  murmured 
Tommy.  He  was  shocked,  but  still  curious.  “Does 
she  say  ‘ Beloved  ’ to  you  ? ” he  inquired, 

“No,  she  says  it  to  him.” 

“Him!  Wha  is  he  ?”  Tommy  thought  he  was  at  the 
beginning  of  a discovery,  but  she  answered,  uncom* 
fortably, 

“I  don’t  know.” 

“ But  you ’ve  seen  him  ? ” 

“No,  he  — he  is  not  there.” 

“Not  there!  How  can  she  speak  to  him  if  he’s  no 
there  ? ” 


176 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


uShe  thinks  he  is  there.  He  — he  comes  on  a horse.” 
:i  What  is  the  horse  like  ? ” 

“There  is  no  horse.” 

“But  you  said ” 

“She  just  thinks  there  is  a horse.  She  hears  it.” 

“ Do  you  ever  hear  it  ? ” 

“No.” 

The  girl  was  looking  imploringly  into  Tommy’s  face 
as  if  begging  it  to  say  that  these  things  need  not  terrify 
her,  but  what  he  wanted  was  information. 

“What  does  the  Painted  Lady  do,”  he  asked,  “when 
she  thinks  she  hears  the  horse  ? ” 

“ She  blows  kisses,  and  then  — then  she  goes  to  the 
Den.” 

“What  to  do?” 

“She  walks  up  and  down  the  Den,  talking  to  the 
man.” 

“ And  him  no  there  ? ” cried  Tommy,  scared. 

“No,  there  is  no  one  there.” 

“And  syne  what  do  you  do  ?” 

“I  won’t  tell  you.” 

Tommy  reflected,  and  then  he  said,  “ She ’s  daft.” 
“She  is  not  always  daft,”  cried  Grizel.  “There  are 
whole  weeks  when  she  is  just  sweet.” 

“Then  what  do  you  make  of  her  being  so  queer  in 
the  Den  ? ” 

“I  am  not  sure,  but  I think  — I think  there  was  once 
a place  like  the  Den  at  her  own  home  in  England, 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  CAME 


177 


where  she  used  to  meet  the  man  long  ago,  and  some- 
times she  forgets  that  it  is  not  long  ago  now,” 

“ I wonder  wha  the  man  was  ? ” 

“I  think  he  was  my  father.” 

“ I thought  you  didna  ken  what  a father  was  ? ” 

“I  know  now.  I think  my  father  was  a Scots- 
man.” 

“ What  makes  you  think  that  ? ” 

“ I heard  a Thrums  woman  say  it  would  account  for 
my  being  called  Grizel,  and  I think  we  came  to  Scotland 
to  look  for  him,  but  it  is  so  long,  long  ago.” 

“ How  long  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know.  We  have  lived  here  four  years,  but 
we  were  looking  for  him  before  that.  It  was  not  in 
this  part  of  Scotland  we  looked  for  him.  We  gave  up 
looking  for  him  before  we  came  here.” 

“What  made  the  Painted  Lady  take  a house  here, 
then  ? ” 

“ I think  it  was  because  the  Den  is  so  like  the  place 
she  used  to  meet  him  in  long  ago.” 

“ What  was  his  name  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know.” 

“Does  the  Painted  Lady  no  tell  you  about  yourseP  ?” 
“No,  she  is  angry  if  I ask.” 

“ Her  name  is  Mary,  I ’ve  heard  ? ” 

“ Mary  Gray  is  her  name,  but  — but  I don’t  think  it 
is  her  real  name.” 

“ How,  does  she  no  use  her  real  name  ? ” 

12 


178 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Because  she  wants  her  own  mamma  to  think  she  is 
dead.” 

“ What  makes  her  want  that  ? ” 

“ I am  not  sure,  but  I think  it  is  because  there  is  me. 
I think  it  was  naughty  of  me  to  be  born.  Can  you  help 
being  born  ? ” 

Tommy  would  have  liked  to  tell  her  about  Reddy, 
but  forbore,  because  he  still  believed  that  he  had  acted 
criminally  in  that  affair,  and  so  for  the  time  being  the 
inquisition  ended.  But  though  he  had  already  discov- 
ered all  that  Grizel  knew  about  her  mother  and  nearly 
all  that  curious  Thrums  ever  ferreted  out,  he  returned 
to  the  subject  at  the  next  meeting  in  the  Den. 

“ Where  does  the  Painted  Lady  get  her  money  ?” 
“Oh,”  said  Grizel,  “that  is  easy.  She  just  goes  into 
that  house  called  the  bank,  and  asks  for  some,  and  they 
give  her  as  much  as  she  likes.” 

“Ay,  I ’ve  heard  that,  but ” 

The  remainder  of  the  question  was  never  uttered. 
Instead, 

“ Hod  ahint  a tree  ! ” cried  Tommy,  hastily,  and  he 
got  behind  one  himself ; but  he  was  too  late ; Elspeth 
was  upon  them;  she  had  caught  them  together  at  last. 

Tommy  showed  great  cunning.  “Pretend  you  have 
eggs  in  your  hand,”  he  whispered  to  Grizel,  and  then, 
in  a loud  voice,  he  said:  “Think  shame  of  yourseP, 
lassie,  for  harrying  birds’  nests.  It  ’s  a good  thing  I 
saw  you,  and  brought  you  here  to  force  you  to  put 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  CAME 


179 


them  back.  Is  that  you,  Elspeth  ? I catched  this 
limmer  wi’  eggs  in  her  hands  (and  the  poor  birds  sic 

bonny  singers,  too !),  and  so  I was  forcing  her  to ” 

But  it  would  not  do.  Grizel  was  ablaze  with  indig- 
nation. “You  are  a horrid  story-teller,”  she  said, 
“and  if  I had  known  you  were  ashamed  of  being  seen 
with  me,  I should  never  have  spoken  to  you.  Take 
him,”  she  cried,  giving  Tommy  a push  toward  Elspeth, 
“I  don’t  want  the  mean  little  story-teller.” 

“He  ’s  not  mean!  ” retorted  Elspeth. 

“Nor  yet  little!  ” roared  Tommy. 

“Yes,  he  is,”  insisted  Grizel,  “and  I was  not  harrying 
nests.  He  came  with  me  here  because  he  wanted  to.” 
“Just  for  the  once/7  he  said,  hastily. 

“This  is  the  sixth  time,”  said  Grizel,  and  then  she 
marched  out  of  the  Den.  Tommy  and  Elspeth  followed 
slowly,  and  not  a word  did  either  say  until  they  were 
in  front  of  Aaron’s  house.  Then  by  the  light  in  the 
window  Tommy  saw  that  Elspeth  was  crying  softly, 
and  he  felt  miserable. 

“I  was  just  teaching  her  to  fight,”  he  said  humbly. 
“You  looked  like  it!”  she  replied,  with  the  scorn 
that  comes  occasionally  to  the  sweetest  lady. 

He  tried  to  comfort  her  in  various  tender  ways,  but 
none  of  them  sufficed  this  time.  “You  ’ll  marry  her  as 
soon  as  you  ’re  a man,”  she  insisted,  and  she  would  not 
let  this  tragic  picture  go.  It  was  a case  for  his  biggest 
efforts,  and  he  opened  his  mouth  to  threaten  instant 


180 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


self-destruction  unless  she  became  happy  at  once.  But 
he  had  threatened  this  too  frequently  of  late,  even 
shown  himself  drawing  the  knife  across  his  throat. 

As  usual  the  right  idea  came  to  him  at  the  right 
moment.  “If  you  just  kent  how  I did  it  for  your 
sake,”  he  said,  with  gentle  dignity,  “you  wouldna 
blame  me;  you  would  think  me  noble.” 

She  would  not  help  him  with  a question,  and  after 
waiting  for  it  he  proceeded.  “ If  you  just  kent  wha  she 
is!  And  I thought  she  was  dead!  What  a start  it 
gave  me  when  I found  out  it  was  her!” 

“Wha  is  she  ?”  cried  Elspeth,  with  a sudden  shiver. 

“I  was  trying  to  keep  it  frae  you,”  replied  Tommy, 
sadly. 

She  seized  his  arm.  “ Is  it  Reddy  ? ” she  gasped,  fof 
the  story  of  Reddy  had  been  a terror  to  her  all  her 
days. 

“She  doesna  ken  I was  the  laddie  that  diddled  her 
in  London,”  he  said,  “and  I promise  you  never  to  let 
on,  Elspeth.  I — I just  went  to  the  Den  with  her  to 
say  things  that  would  put  her  off  the  scent.  If  I hadna 
done  that  she  might  have  found  out  and  ta’en  youi 
place  here  and  tried  to  pack  you  off  to  the  Painted 
Lady’s.” 

Elspeth  stared  at  him,  the  other  grief  already  for- 
gotten, and  he  thought  he  was  getting  on  excellently, 
when  she  cried  with  passion,  “I  don’t  believe  as  it  is 
Reddy!”  and  ran  into  the  house* 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  CAME 


181 


“ Dinna  believe  it,  then ! ” disappointed  Tommy 
shouted,  and  now  he  was  in  such  a rage  with  himself 
that  his  heart  hardened  against  her.  He  sought  the 
company  of  old  Blinder. 

Unfortunately  Elspeth  had  believed  it,  and  her  woe 
was  the  more  pitiful  because  she  saw  at  once,  what  had 
never  struck  Tommy,  that  it  would  be  wicked  to  keep 
Grizel  out  of  her  rights.  “I’ll  no  win  to  Heaven 
now,”  she  said,  despairingly,  to  herself,  for  to  offer  to 
change  places  with  Grizel  was  beyond  her  courage,  and 
she  tried  some  childish  ways  of  getting  round  God,  such 
as  going  on  her  knees  and  saying,  “ I ’m  so  little,  and 
I hinna  no  mother!”  That  was  not  a bad  way. 

Another  way  was  to  give  Grizel  everything  she  had, 
except  Tommy.  She  collected  all  her  treasures,  the  bot- 
tle with  the  brass  top  that  she  had  got  from  Shovel’s 
old  girl,  the  “ housewife  ” that  was  a present  from  Miss 
Ailie,  the  teetotum,  the  pretty  buttons  Tommy  had 
won  for  her  at  the  game  of  buttony,  the  witchy  marble, 
the  twopence  she  had  already  saved  for  the  Muckley, 
these  and  some  other  precious  trifles  she  made  a little 
bundle  of  and  set  off  for  Double  Dykes  with  them, 
intending  to  leave  them  at  the  door.  This  was  Elspeth, 
who  in  ordinary  circumstances  would  not  have  ventured 
near  that  mysterious  dwelling  even  in  daylight  and  in 
Tommy’s  company.  There  was  no  room  for  vulgar 
fear  in  her  bursting  little  heart  to-night. 

Tommy  went  home  anon,  meaning  to  be  whatever 


182 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


kind  of  boy  she  seemed  most  in  need  of,  but  she  was 
not  in  the  house,  she  was  not  in  the  garden;  he  called 
her  name,  and  it  was  only  Birkie  Fleemister,  mimicking 
her,  who  answered,  “Oh,  Tommy,  come  to  me!”  But 
Birkie  had  news  for  him. 

“Sure  as  death,”  he  said  in  some  awe,  “I  saw 
Elspeth  ganging  yont  the  double  dykes,  and  I cried  to 
her  that  the  Painted  Lady  would  do  her  a mischief, 
but  she  just  ran  on.” 

Elspeth  in  the  double  dykes  — alone  — and  at  night! 
Oh,  how  Tommy  would  have  liked  to  strike  himself 
now ! She  must  have  believed  his  wicked  lie  after  all, 
and  being  so  religious  she  had  gone  to  — He  gave 
himself  no  time  to  finish  the  thought.  The  vital  thing 
was  that  she  was  in  peril,  he  seemed  to  hear  her  calling 
to  him,  “Oh,  Tommy,  come  quick!  oh,  Tommy,  oh, 
Tommy ! ” and  in  an  agony  of  apprehension  he  ran  after 
her.  But  by  the  time  he  got  to  the  beginning  of  the 
double  dykes  he  knew  that  she  must  be  at  the  end  of 
them,  and  in  the  Painted  Lady’s  maw,  unless  their 
repute  by  night  had  blown  her  back.  He  paused  on 
the  Coffin  Brig,  which  is  one  long  narrow  stone;  and 
along  the  funnel  of  the  double  dykes  he  sent  the  lonely 
whisper,  “ Elspeth,  are  you  there  ? ” He  tried  to  shout 
it,  but  no  boy  could  shout  there  after  nightfall  in  the 
Painted  Lady’s  time,  and  when  the  words  had  travelled 
only  a little  way  along  the  double  dykes,  they  came 
whining  back  to  him,  like  a dog  despatched  on  uncanny 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  CAME 


183 


work.  He  heard  no  other  sound  save  the  burn  stealing 
on  tiptoe  from  an  evil  place,  and  the  uneasy  rustling  of 
tree-tops,  and  his  own  breathing. 

The  Coffin  Brig  remains,  but  the  double  dykes  have 
fallen  bit  by  bit  into  the  burn,  and  the  path  they  made 
safe  is  again  as  naked  as  when  the  Kingoldrum 
Jacobites  filed  along  it,  and  sweer  they  were,  to  the 
support  of  the  Pretender.  It  traverses  a ridge  and  is 
streaked  with  slippery  beech-roots  which  like  to  fling 
you  off  your  feet,  on  the  one  side  into  a black  burn 
twenty  feet  below,  on  the  other  down  a pleasant  slope. 
The  double  dykes  were  built  by  a farmer  fond  of  his 
dram,  to  stop  the  tongue  of  a water-kelpie  which  lived 
in  a pool  below  and  gave  him  a turn  every  night  he 
staggered  home  by  shouting,  “ Drunk  again,  Peewit- 
brae!”  and  announcing,  with  a smack  of  the  lips,  that 
it  had  a bed  ready  for  him  in  the  burn.  So  Peewitbrae 
built  two  parallel  dykes  two  feet  apart  and  two  feet 
high,  between  which  he  could  walk  home  like  a straight 
man.  His  cunning  took  the  heart  out  of  the  brute,  and 
water-kelpies  have  not  been  seen  near  Thrums  since 
about  that  time. 

By  day  even  girls  played  at  palaulays  here,  and  it 
was  a favorite  resort  of  boys,  who  knew  that  you  were 
a man  when  you  could  stand  on  both  dykes  at  once. 
They  also  stripped  boldly  to  the  skin  and  then  looked 
doubtfully  at  the  water.  But  at  night!  To  test  your 
nerves  you  walked  alone  between  the  double  dykes, 


184 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


and  the  popular  practice  was  to  start  off  whistling, 
which  keeps  up  the  courage.  At  the  point  where  you 
turned  to  run  back  (the  Painted  Lady  after  you,  or  so 
you  thought)  you  dropped  a marked  stone,  which  told 
next  day  how  far  you  had  ventured.  Corp  Shiach  long 
held  the  championship,  and  his  stone  was  ostentatiously 
fixed  in  one  of  the  dykes  with  lime.  Tommy  had 
suffered  at  his  hands  for  saying  that  Shovel’s  mark  wars 
thirty  yards  farther  on. 

With  head  bent  to  the  level  of  the  dykes,  though  it 
was  almost  a mirk  night  beneath  the  trees,  and  one  arm 
outstretched  before  him  straight  as  an  elvint,  Tommy 
faced  this  fearful  passage,  sometimes  stopping  to  touch 
cold  iron,  but  on  the  whole  hanging  back  little,  for 
Elspeth  was  in  peril.  Soon  he  reached  the  paling  that 
was  not  needed  to  keep  boys  out  of  the  Painted  Lady’s 
garden,  one  of  the  prettiest  and  best-tended  flower- 
gardens  in  Thrums,  and  crawling  through  where  some 
spars  had  fallen,  he  approached  the  door  as  noiseless  as 
an  Indian  brave  after  scalps.  There  he  crouched,  with 
a heart  that  was  going  like  a shuttle  on  a loom,  and 
listened  for  Elspeth’s  voice. 

On  a night  he  had  come  nearly  as  far  as  this  before, 
but  in  the  tail  of  big  fellows  with  a turnip  lantern. 
Into  the  wood-work  of  the  east  window  they  had  thrust 
a pin,  to  which  a button  was  tied,  and  the  button  was 
also  attached  to  a long  string.  They  hunkered  afar  off 
and  pulled  this  string,  and  then  the  button  tapped  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  NEVER  CAME 


186 


death-rap  on  the  window,  and  the  sport  was  successful, 
for  the  Painted  Lady  screamed.  But  suddenly  the  door 
opened  and  they  were  put  to  flight  by  the  fierce  barking 
of  a dog.  One  said  that  the  brute  nabbed  him  in  the 
leg,  another  saw  the  vive  tongue  of  it,  a third  played 
lick  at  it  with  the  lantern;  this  was  before  they  dis- 
covered that  the  dog  had  been  Grizel  imitating  one, 
brave  Grizel,  always  ready  to  protect  her  mother,  and 
never  allowed  to  cherish  the  childish  fears  that  were 
hers  by  birthright. 

Tommy  could  not  hear  a sound  from  within,  but  he 
had  startling  proof  that  Elspeth  was  near.  His  foot 
struck  against  something  at  the  door,  and,  stooping, 
he  saw  that  it  was  a little  bundle  of  the  treasures  she 
valued  most.  So  she  had  indeed  come  to  stay  with  the 
Painted  Lady  if  Grizel  proved  merciless ! Oh,  what  a 
black  he  had  been! 

Though  originally  a farm-house,  the  cottage  was  no 
larger  than  Aaron’s,  and  of  its  two  front  windows  only 
one  showed  a light,  and  that  through  a blind.  Tommy 
sidled  round  the  house  in  the  hope  that  the  small  east 
window  would  be  more  hospitable,  and  just  as  he  saw 
that  it  was  blindless  something  that  had  been  crouching 
rose  between  him  and  it. 

“Let  go!”  he  cried,  feeling  the  Painted  Lady's 
talons  in  his  neck. 

“Tommy!  ” was  the  answer. 

“ It 's  you,  Elspeth  ? n 


186 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Is  it  you,  Tommy  ? ” 

“ Of  course.  Whisht! ” 

“But  say  it  is.” 

“It  is.” 

“Oh,  Tommy,  I ’m  so  fleid!” 

He  drew  her  farther  from  the  window  and  told  her  it 
had  all  been  a wicked  lie,  and  she  was  so  glad  that  she 
forgot  to  chide  him,  but  he  denounced  himself,  and  he 
was  better  than  Elspeth  even  at  that.  However,  when 
he  learned  what  had  brought  her  here  he  dried  his  eyes 
and  skulked  to  the  door  again  and  brought  back  her 
belongings,  and  then  she  wanted  him  to  come  away  at 
once.  But  the  window  fascinated  him;  he  knew  he 
should  never  find  courage  to  come  here  again,  and  he 
glided  toward  it,  signing  to  Elspeth  to  accompany  him. 
They  were  now  too  near  Double  Dykes  for  speaking  to 
be  safe,  but  he  tapped  his  head  as  a warning  to  her  to 
remove  her  hat,  for  a woman’s  head-gear  always  reaches 
a window  in  front  of  its  wearer,  and  he  touched  his 
cold  iron  and  passed  it  to  her  as  if  it  were  a snuff-mull. 
Thus  fortified,  they  approached  the  window  fearfully, 
holding  hands  and  stepping  high,  like  a couple  in  a 
minuet. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  PAINTED  LADY 

It  had  been  the  ordinary  dwelling  room  of  the 
unknown  poor,  the  mean  little  “ end  ” — ah,  no,  no,  the 
noblest  chamber  in  the  annals  of  the  Scottish  nation. 
Here  on  a hard  anvil  has  its  character  been  fashioned 
and  its  history  made  at  rush-lights  and  its  God  ever 
most  prominent.  Always  within  reach  of  hands  which 
trembled  with  reverence  as  they  turned  its  broad  page 
could  be  found  the  Book  that  is  compensation  for  all 
things,  and  that  was  never  more  at  home  than  on  bare 
dressers  and  worm-eaten  looms.  If  you  were  brought 
up  in  that  place  and  have  forgotten  it,  there  is  no  more 
hope  for  you. 

But  though  still  recalling  its  past,  the  kitchen  into 
which  Tommy  and  Elspeth  peered  was  trying  success- 
fully to  be  something  else.  The  plate-rack  had  been  a 
fixture,  and  the  coffin-bed  and  the  wooden  bole,  or 
board  in  the  wall,  with  its  round  hole  through  which 
you  thrust  your  hand  when  you  wanted  salt,  and  instead 
of  a real  mantelpiece  there  was  a quaint  imitation  one 
painted  over  the  fireplace.  There  were  some  pieces  of 
furniture  too,  such  as  were  usual  in  rooms  of  the  kind, 


188 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


but  most  of  them,  perhaps  in  ignorance,  had  been  put 
to  novel  uses,  like  the  plate-rack,  where  the  Painted 
Lady  kept  her  many  pretty  shoes  instead  of  her 
crockery.  Gossip  said  she  had  a looking-glass  of  such 
prodigious  size  that  it  stood  on  the  floor,  and  Tommy 
nudged  Elspeth  to  signify,  “ There  it  is ! ” Other 
nudges  called  her  attention  to  the  carpet,  the  spinet,  a 
chair  that  rocked  like  a cradle,  and  some  smaller  oddi- 
ties, of  which  the  queerest  was  a monster  velvet  glove 
hanging  on  the  nail  that  by  rights  belonged  to  the 
bellows.  The  Painted  Lady  always  put  on  this  glove 
before  she  would  touch  the  coals,  which  diverted 
Tommy,  who  knew  that  common  folk  lift  coals  with 
their  bare  hands  while  society  uses  the  fringe  of  its 
second  petticoat. 

It  might  have  been  a boudoir  through  which  a 
kitchen  and  bedroom  had  wandered,  spilling  by  the 
way,  but  though  the  effect  was  tawdry,  everything  had 
been  rubbed  clean  by  that  passionate  housewife,  Grizel. 
She  was  on  her  knees  at  present  ca’ming  the  hearth- 
stone a beautiful  blue,  and  sometimes  looking  round  to 
address  her  mother,  who  was  busy  among  her  plants 
and  cut  flowers.  Surely  they  were  know-nothings  who 
called  this  woman  silly,  and  blind  who  said  she  painted. 
It  was  a little  face  all  of  one  color,  dingy  pale,  not 
chubby,  but  retaining  the  soft  contours  of  a child’s 
face,  and  the  features  were  singularly  delicate.  She 
was  clad  in  a soft  gray,  and  her  figure  was  of  the 


THE  PAINTED  LADY 


189 


smallest;  there  was  such  an  air  of  youth  about  her  that 
Tommy  thought  she  could  become  a girl  again  by 
merely  shortening  her  frock,  not  such  a girl  as  gaunt 
Grizel,  though,  who  would  have  looked  a little  woman 
had  she  let  her  frock  down.  In  appearance  indeed  the 
Painted  Lady  resembled  her  plain  daughter  not  at  all, 
but  in  manner  in  a score  of  ways,  as  when  she  rocked 
her  arms  joyously  at  sight  of  a fresh  bud  or  tossed  her 
brown  hair  from  her  brows  with  a pretty  gesture  that 
ought,  God  knows,  to  have  been  for  some  man  to  love. 
The  watchers  could  not  hear  what  she  and  Grizel  said, 
but  evidently  it  was  pleasant  converse,  and  mother  and 
child,  happy  in  each  other’s  company,  presented  a 
picture  as  sweet  as  it  is  common,  though  some  might 
have  complained  that  they  were  doing  each  other’s 
work.  But  the  Painted  Lady’s  delight  in  flowers  was 
a scandal  in  Thrums,  where  she  would  stand  her  ground 
if  the  roughest  boy  approached  her  with  roses  in  his 
hand,  and  she  gave  money  for  them,  which  was  one 
reason  why  the  people  thought  her  daft.  She  was 
tending  her  flowers  now  with  experienced  eye,  smelling 
them  daintily,  and  every  time  she  touched  them  it  was 
a caress. 

The  watchers  retired  into  the  field  to  compare 
impressions,  and  Elspeth  said  emphatically,  “I  like 
her,  Tommy,  I’m  not  none  fleid  at  her.” 

Tommy  had  liked  her  also,  but  being  a man  he  said, 
“ You  forget  that  she ’s  an  ill  one.” 


190 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“She  looks  as  if  she  didna  ken  that  herself” 
answered  Elspeth,  and  these  words  of  a child  are  the 
best  picture  we  can  hope  to  get  of  the  Painted  Lady. 

On  their  return  to  the  window,  they  saw  that  Grizel 
had  finished  her  camming  and  was  now  sitting  on  the 
floor  nursing  a doll.  Tommy  had  not  thought  her  the 
kind  to  shut  her  eyes  to  the  truth  about  dolls,  but  she 
was  hugging  this  one  passionately.  Without  its  clothes 
it  was  of  the  nine-pin  formation,  and  the  painted  eyes 
and  mouth  had  been  incorporated  long  since  in  loving 
GrizePs  system;  but  it  became  just  sweet  as  she 
swaddled  it  in  a long  yellow  frock  and  slipped  its 
bullet  head  into  a duck  of  a pink  bonnet.  These 
articles  of  attire  and  the  others  that  you  begin  with  had 
all  been  made  by  Grizel  herself  out  of  the  colored 
tissue-paper  that  shopkeepers  wrap  round  brandy 
bottles.  The  dolPs  name  was  Griselda,  and  it  was 
exactly  six  months  old,  and  Grizel  had  found  it,  two 
years  ago,  lying  near  the  Coffin  Brig,  naked  and  almost 
dead. 

It  was  making  the  usual  fuss  at  having  its  clothes 
put  on,  and  Grizel  had  to  tell  it  frequently  that  of  all 
the  babies  — which  shamed  it  now  and  again,  but  kept 
her  so  occupied  that  she  forgot  her  mother.  The 
Painted  Lady  had  sunk  into  the  rocking-chair,  and  for 
a time  she  amused  herself  with  it,  but  by  and  by  it 
ceased  to  rock,  and  as  she  sat  looking  straight  before 
her  a change  came  over  her  face.  ElspetlPs  hand 


THE  PAINTED  LADY 


191 


tightened  its  clutch  on  Tommy’s;  the  Painted  Lady 
had  begun  to  talk  to  herself. 

She  was  not  speaking  aloud,  for  evidently  Grizel, 
whose  back  was  toward  her,  heard  nothing,  but  her  lips 
moved  and  she  nodded  her  head  and  smiled  and  beck- 
oned, apparently  to  the  wall,  and  the  childish  face 
rapidly  became  vacant  and  foolish.  This  mood  passed, 
and  now  she  was  sitting  very  still,  only  her  head 
moving,  as  she  looked  in  apprehension  and  perplexity 
this  way  and  that,  like  one  who  no  longer  knew  where 
she  was,  nor  who  was  the  child  by  the  fire.  When  at 
last  Grizel  turned  and  observed  the  change,  she  may 
have  sighed,  but  there  was  no  fear  in  her  face;  the 
fear  was  on  the  face  of  her  mother,  who  shrank  from 
her  in  unmistakable  terror  and  would  have  screamed  at 
a harsh  word  or  a hasty  movement.  Grizel  seemed  to 
know  this,  for  she  remained  where  she  was,  and  first 
she  nodded  and  smiled  reassuringly  to  her  mother,  and 
then,  leaning  forward,  took  her  hand  and  stroked  it 
softly  and  began  to  talk.  She  had  laid  aside  her  doll, 
and  with  the  act  become  a woman  again. 

The  Painted  Lady  was  soothed,  but  her  bewildered 
look  came  and  went,  as  if  she  only  caught  at  some 
explanation  Grizel  was  making,  to  lose  it  in  a moment. 
Yet  she  seemed  most  eager  to  be  persuaded.  The  little 
watchers  at  this  queer  play  saw  that  Grizel  was  saying 
things  to  her  which  she  repeated  docilely  and  clung  to 
and  lost  hold  of.  Often  Grizel  illustrated  her  words  by 


192 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


a sort  of  pantomime,  as  when  she  sat  down  on  a chair 
and  placed  the  doll  in  her  lap,  then  sat  down  on  her 
mother’s  lap;  and  when  she  had  done  this  several  times 
Tommy  took  Elspeth  into  the  field  to  say  to  her: 

“ Do  you  no  see  ? She  means  as  she  is  the  Painted 
Lady’s  bairn,  just  the  same  as  the  doll  is  her  bairn.” 

If  the  Painted  Lady  needed  to  be  told  this  every 
minute  she  was  daft  indeed,  and  Elspeth  could  peer  no 
longer  at  the  eerie  spectacle.  To  leave  Tommy,  how- 
ever, was  equally  difficult,  so  she  crouched  at  his  feet 
when  he  returned  to  the  window,  drawn  there  hastily 
by  the  sound  of  music. 

The  Painted  Lady  could  play  on  the  spinet  beauti- 
fully, but  Grizel  could  not  play,  though  it  was  she  who 
was  trying  to  play  now.  She  was  running  her  fingers 
over  the  notes,  producing  noises  from  them,  while  she 
swayed  grotesquely  on  her  seat  and  made  comic  faces. 
Her  object  was  to  capture  her  mother’s  mind,  and  she 
succeeded  for  a short  time,  but  soon  it  floated  away 
from  all  control,  and  the  Painted  Lady  fell  a-shaking 
violently.  Then  Grizel  seemed  to  be  alarmed,  and  her 
arms  rocked  despairingly,  but  she  went  to  her  mother 
and  took  loving  hold  of  her,  and  the  woman  clung  to 
her  child  in  a way  pitiful  to  see.  She  was  on  GrizePs 
knee  now,  but  she  still  shivered  as  if  in  a deadly  chill, 
and  her  feet  rattled  on  the  floor,  and  her  arms  against 
the  sides  of  the  chair.  Grizel  pinned  the  trembling 
arms  with  her  own  and  twisted  her  legs  round  her 


THE  PAINTED  LADY 


193 


mother’s,  and  still  the  Painted  Lady’s  tremors  shook 
them  both,  so  that  to  Tommy  they  were  as  two  people 
wrestling. 

The  shivering  slowly  lessened  and  at  last  ceased, 
but  this  seemed  to  make  Grizel  no  less  unhappy.  To 
her  vehement  attempt  to  draw  her  mother’s  attention 
she  got  no  response ; the  Painted  Lady  was  hearkening 
intently  for  some  sound  other  than  Grizel’s  voice,  and 
only  once  did  she  look  at  her  child.  Then  it  was  with 
cruel,  ugly  eyes,  and  at  the  same  moment  she  shoved 
Grizel  aside  so  viciously  that  it  was  almost  a blow. 
Grizel  sat  down  sorrowfully  beside  her  doll,  like  one 
aware  that  she  could  do  no  more,  and  her  mother  at 
once  forgot  her.  What  was  she  listening  for  so 
eagerly  ? Was  it  for  the  gallop  of  a horse  ? Tommy 
strained  his  ears. 

“ Elspeth  — speak  low  — do  you  hear  anything  ? ” 
“No;  I 'm  ower  fleid  to  listen.” 

“ Whisht ! do  you  no  hear  a horse  ? ” 

“No,  everything’s  terrible  still.  Do  you  hear  a 
horse  ? ” 

“I  — I think  I do,  but  far  awa’.” 

His  imagination  was  on  fire.  Did  he  hear  a distant 
galloping  or  did  he  only  make  himself  hear  it  ? He  had 
bent  his  head,  and  Elspeth,  looking  affrighted  into  his 
face,  whispered,  “I  hear  it  too,  oh,  Tommy,  so  do  I!” 
And  the  Painted  Lady  had  heard  it.  She  kissed  her 
hand  toward  the  Den  several  times,  and  each  time 

13 


194  SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 

Tommy  seemed  to  hear  that  distant  galloping.  All  the 
sweetness  had  returned  to  her  face  now,  and  with  it  a 
surging  joy,  and  she  rocked  her  arms  exultantly,  but 
quickly  controlled  them  lest  Grizel  should  see.  For 
evidently  Grizel  must  be  cheated,  and  so  the  Painted 
Lady  became  very  sly.  She  slipped  off  her  shoes  to  be 
able  to  make  her  preparations  noiselessly,  and  though 
at  all  other  times  her  face  expressed  the  rapture  of 
love,  when  she  glanced  at  her  child  it  was  suspiciously 
and  with  a gleam  of  hatred.  Her  preparations  were  for 
going  out.  She  was  long  at  the  famous  mirror,  and 
when  she  left  it  her  hair  was  elaborately  dressed  and 
her  face  so  transformed  that  first  Tommy  exclaimed 
“Bonny !”  and  then  corrected  himself  with  a scornful 
“ Paint ! ” On  her  feet  she  put  a foolish  little  pair  of 
red  shoes,  on  her  head  a hat  too  gay  with  flowers,  and 
across  her  shoulders  a flimsy  white  shawl  at  which  the 
night  air  of  Thrums  would  laugh.  Her  every  move- 
ment was  light  and  cautious  and  accompanied  by  side- 
glances  at  Grizel,  who  occasionally  looked  at  her,  when 
the  Painted  Lady  immediately  pretended  to  be  tending 
her  plants  again.  She  spoke  to  Grizel  sweetly  to 
deceive  her,  and  shot  baleful  glances  at  her  next 
moment.  Tommy  saw  that  Grizel  had  taken  up  her 
doll  once  more  and  was  squeezing  it  to  her  breast.  She 
knew  very  well  what  was  going  on  behind  her  back. 

Suddenly  Tommy  took  to  his  heels,  Elspeth  after 
him.  He  had  seen  the  Painted  Lady  coming  on  her 


THEY  SAW  THE  WINDOW  OPEN  AND  A FIGURE  IN  A WHITE  SHAWL 
CREEP  OUT  OF  IT 


%r  "v 

fy,0' 


THE  PAINTED  LADY 


195 


tiptoes  to  the  window.  They  saw  the  window  open  and 
a figure  in  a white  shawl  creep  out  of  it,  as  she  had 
doubtless  escaped  long  ago  by  another  window  when 
the  door  was  barred.  They  lost  sight  of  her  at  once. 

“ What  will  Grizel  do  now  ? ” Tommy  whispered,  and 
he  would  have  returned  to  his  watching  place,  but 
Elspeth  pointed  to  the  window.  Grizel  was  there 
closing  it,  and  next  moment  the  lamp  was  extinguished. 
They  heard  a key  turn  in  the  lock,  and  presently 
Grizel,  carrying  warm  wraps,  passed  very  near  them 
and  proceeded  along  the  double  dykes,  not  anxious 
apparently  to  keep  her  mother  in  view,  but  slowly,  as 
if  she  knew  where  to  find  her.  She  went  into  the  Den, 
where  Tommy  dared  not  follow  her,  but  he  listened  at 
the  stile  and  in  the  awful  silence  he  fancied  he  heard 
the  neighing  of  a horse. 

The  next  time  he  met  Grizel  he  was  yearning  to  ask 
her  how  she  spent  that  night,  but  he  knew  she  would 
not  answer;  it  would  be  a long  time  before  she  gave 
him  her  confidence  again.  He  offered  her  his  piece  of 
cold  iron,  however,  and  explained  why  he  carried  it, 
whereupon  she  flung  it  across  the  road,  crying,  “You 
horrid  boy,  do  you  think  I am  frightened  at  my 
mamma!”  But  when  he  was  out  of  sight  she  came 
back  and  slipped  the  cold  iron  into  her  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


IN  WHICH  TOMMY  SOLVES  THE  WOMAN  PROBLEM 

Pity  made  Elspeth  want  to  like  the  Painted  Lady’s 
child  now,  but  her  own  rules  of  life  were  all  from  a 
book  never  opened  by  Grizel,  who  made  her  religion  for 
herself  and  thought  God  a swear;  she  also  despised 
Elspeth  for  being  so  dependent  on  Tommy,  and  Elspeth 
knew  it.  The  two  great  subjects  being  barred  thus,  it 
was  not  likely  that  either  girl,  despite  some  attempts 
on  Elspeth’s  part,  should  find  out  the  best  that  was  in 
the  other,  without  which  friendship  has  no  meaning, 
and  they  would  have  gone  different  ways  had  not 
Tommy  given  an  arm  to  each.  He,  indeed,  had  as 
little  in  common  with  Grizel,  for  most  conspicuous  of 
his  traits  was  the  faculty  of  stepping  into  other  people’s 
shoes  and  remaining  there  until  he  became  someone 
else;  his  individuality  consisted  in  having  none,  while 
she  could  only  be  herself  and  was  without  tolerance  for 
those  who  were  different;  he  had  at  no  time  in  his  life 
the  least  desire  to  make  other  persons  like  himself,  but 
if  they  were  not  like  Grizel  she  rocked  her  arms  and 
cried,  “ Why,  why,  why  ? ” which  is  the  mark  of  the 


TOMMY  SOLVES  THE  WOMAN  PROBLEM  197 

u womanly  ” woman.  But  his  tendency  to  be  anyone  he 
was  interested  in  implied  enormous  sympathy  (for  the 
time  being),  and  though  Grizel  spurned  his  overtures, 
this  only  fired  his  pride  of  conquest.  We  can  all  get 
whatever  we  want  if  we  are  quite  determined  to  have 
it  (though  it  be  a king’s  daughter),  and  in  the  end 
Tommy  vanquished  Grizel.  How  ? By  offering  to  let 
her  come  into  Aaron’s  house  and  wash  it  and  dust  it 
and  ca’m  it,  “ just  as  if  you  were  our  mother,”  an  invi- 
tation she  could  not  resist.  To  you  this  may  seem  an 
easy  way,  but  consider  the  penetration  he  showed  in 
thinking  of  it.  It  came  to  him  one  day  when  he  saw 
her  lift  the  smith’s  baby  out  of  the  gutter,  and  hug  it 
with  a passionate  delight  in  babies. 

“ She’s  so  awid  to  do  it,”  he  said  basely  to  Elspeth, 
“that  we  needna  let  on  how  much  we  want  it  done.” 
And  he  also  mentioned  her  eagerness  to  Aaron  as  a 
reason  why  she  should  be  allowed  to  do  it  for  nothing. 

For  Aaron  to  hold  out  against  her  admittance  would 
have  been  to  defraud  himself,  for  she  transformed  his 
house.  When  she  saw  the  brass  lining  of  the  jelly -pan 
discolored,  and  that  the  stockings  hanging  from  the 
string  beneath  the  mantelpiece  had  given  way  where 
the  wearers  were  hardest  on  them;  when  she  found 
dripping  adhering  to  a cold  frying-pan  instead  of  in  a 
“pig,”  and  the  pitcher  leaking  and  the  carrot-grater 
stopped  — when  these  and  similar  discoveries  were 
made  by  Grizel,  was  it  a squeal  of  horror  she  gave  that 


198 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


such  things  should  be,  or  a cry  of  rapture  because  to 
her  had  fallen  the  task  of  setting  them  right  ? 

“She  just  made  a jump  for  the  besom/’  was  Tommy's 
graphic  description  of  how  it  all  began. 

You  should  have  seen  Grizel  on  the  hoddy-table 
knocking  nails  into  the  wall.  The  hoddy-table  is 
so  called  because  it  goes  beneath  the  larger  one  at 
night,  like  a chicken  under  its  mother,  and  Grizel, 
with  the  nails  in  her  mouth,  used  them  up  so  quickly 
that  you  would  have  sworn  she  swallowed  half  of  them; 
yet  she  rocked  her  arms  because  she  could  not  be  at 
all  four  walls  at  once.  -She  rushed  about  the  room 
until  she  was  dizzy,  and  Tommy  knew  the  moment  to 
cry  “ Grip  her,  she  'll  tumble ! " when  he  and  Elspeth 
seized  her  and  put  her  on  a stool. 

It  is  on  the  hoddy-table  that  you  bake  and  iron. 
“There's  not  a baking-board  in  the  house,"  Elspeth 
explained.  “There  is!"  cried  Grizel,  there  and  then 
converting  a drawer  into  one. 

Between  her  big  bannocks  she  made  baby  ones,  for 
no  better  reason  than  that  she  was  so  fond  of  babies, 
and  she  kissed  the  baby  ones  and  said,  “ Oh,  the  loves, 
they  are  just  sweet!"  and  she  felt  for  them  when 
Tommy  took  a bite.  She  could  go  so  quickly  between 
the  board  and  the  girdle  that  she  was  always  at  one 
end  of  the  course  or  the  other,  but  never  gave  you  time 
to  say  at  which  end,  and  on  the  limited  space  round 
the  fire  she  could  balance  such  a number  of  bannocks 


TOMMY  SOLVES  THE  WOMAN  PROBLEM  199 

that  they  were  as  much  a wonder  as  the  Lord’s  prayer 
written  on  a sixpence.  Such  a vigilant  eye  she  kept 
on  them,  too,  that  they  dared  not  fall.  Yet  she  had 
never  been  taught  to  bake;  a good-natured  neighbor 
had  now  and  again  allowed  her  to  look  on. 

Then  her  ironing!  Even  Aaron  opened  his  mouth 
on  this  subject,  Blinder  being  his  confidant.  “ I 
thought  there  was  a smell  o’  burning,”  he  said,  “and  so 
I went  butt  the  house;  but  man,  as  soon  as  my  een 
lighted  on  her  I minded  of  my  mother  at  the  same  job. 
The  crittur  was  so  busy  with  her  work  that  she  looked 
as  if,  though  the  last  trumpet  had  blawn,  she  would 
just  have  cried,  4 1 canna  come  till  my  ironing’s  done ! * 
Ay,  I went  ben  without  a word.” 

But  best  of  all  was  to  see  Grizel  “ redding  up  ” on  a 
Saturday  afternoon.  Where  were  Tommy  and  Elspeth 
then  ? They  were  shut  up  in  the  coffin-bed  to  be  out  of 
the  way,  and  could  scarce  have  told  whether  they  fled 
thither  or  were  wrapped  into  it  by  her  energetic  arms. 
Even  Aaron  dared  not  cross  the  floor  until  it  was 
sanded.  “I  believe,”  he  said,  trying  to  jest,  “you 
would  like  to  shut  me  up  in  the  bed  too ! ” “I  should 
just  love  it,”  she  cried,  eagerly;  “will  you  go  ?”  It  is 
an  inferior  woman  who  has  a sense  of  humor  when 
there  is  a besom  in  her  hand. 

Thus  began  great  days  to  Grizel,  “ sweet  ” she  called 
them,  for  she  had  many  of  her  mother’s  words,  and  a 
pretty  way  of  emphasizing  them  with  her  plain  face 


200 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


that  turned  them  all  into  superlatives.  But  though 
Tommy  and  Elspeth  were  her  friends  now,  her  mouth 
shut  obstinately  the  moment  they  mentioned  the 
Painted  Lady ; she  regretted  ever  having  given  Tommy 
her  confidence  on  that  subject,  and  was  determined  not 
to  do  so  again.  He  did  not  dare  tell  her  that  he  had 
once  been  at  the  east  window  of  her  home,  but  often  he 
and  Elspeth  spoke  to  each  other  of  that  adventure,  and 
sometimes  they  woke  in  their  garret  bed  thinking  they 
heard  the  horseman  galloping  by.  Then  they  crept 
closer  to  each  other,  and  wondered  whether  Grizel  was 
cosey  in  her  bed  or  stalking  an  eerie  figure  in  the  Den. 

Aaron  said  little,  but  he  was  drawn  to  the  girl,  who 
had  not  the  self-consciousness  of  Tommy  and  Elspeth 
in  his  presence,  and  sometimes  he  slipped  a penny  into 
her  hand.  The  pennies  were  not  spent,  they  were 
hoarded  for  the  fair,  or  Muckle  Friday,  or  Muckley, 
great  day  of  the  year  in  Thrums.  If  you  would  know 
how  Tommy  was  making  ready  for  this  mighty  festival, 
listen. 

One  of  his  sources  of  income  was  the  Mentor , a 
famous  London,  weekly  paper,  which  seemed  to  visitors 
to  be  taken  in  by  every  person  of  position  in  Thrums. 
It  was  to  be  seen  not  only  in  parlors,  but  on  the  arm- 
chair at  the  Jute  Bank,  in  the  gauger’s  gig,  in  the 
Spittal  factor’s  dog-cart,  on  a shoemaker’s  form,  pro- 
truding from  Dr.  McQueen’s  tail  pocket  and  from  Mr. 
Duthie’s  oxter  pocket,  on  Cathro’s  school-desk,  in  the 


TOMMY  SOLVES  THE  WOMAN  PROBLEM  201 


Rev.  Mr.  Dishart’s  study,  in  half  a dozen  farms.  Miss 
Ailie  compelled  her  little  servant,  Gavinia,  to  read  the 
Mentor , and  stood  over  her  while  she  did  it;  the  phrase, 
“this  week’s,”  meant  this  week’s  Mentor . Yet  the 
secret  must  be  told:  only  one  copy  of  the  paper  came 
to  Thrums  weekly ; it  was  subscribed  for  by  the  whole 
reading  public  between  them,  and  by  Miss  Ailie’s 
influence  Tommy  had  become  the  boy  who  carried  it 
from  house  to  house. 

This  brought  him  a penny  a week,  but  so  heavy  were 
his  incidental  expenses  that  he  could  have  saved  little 
for  the  Muckley  had  not  another  organization  given 
him  a better  chance.  It  was  a society,  newly  started, 
for  helping  the  deserving  poor;  they  had  to  subscribe 
not  less  than  a penny  weekly  to  it,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  year  each  subscriber  was  to  be  given  fuel,  etc.,  to 
the  value  of  double  what  he  or  she  had  put  in.  " The 
three  Ps  ” was  a nickname  given  to  the  society  by  Dr. 
McQueen,  because  it  claimed  to  distribute  “ Peats  and 
Potatoes  with  Propriety,”  but  he  was  one  of  its  heartiest 
supporters  nevertheless.  The  history  of  this  society  in 
the  first  months  of  its  existence  not  only  shows  how 
Tommy  became  a moneyed  man,  but  gives  a glimpse 
into  the  character  of  those  it  benefited. 

Miss  Ailie  was  treasurer,  and  the  pennies  were  to  be 
brought  to  her  on  Monday  evenings  between  the  hours 
of  seven  and  eight.  The  first  Monday  evening  found 
her  ready  in  the  school-room,  in  her  hand  the  famous 


202 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


pencil  that  wrote  red  with  the  one  end  and  blue  with 
the  other;  by  her  side  her  assistant,  Mr.  T.  Sandys,  a 
pen  balanced  on  his  ear.  For  a whole  hour  did  they 
wait,  but  though  many  of  the  worthiest  poor  had  been 
enrolled  as  members,  the  few  who  appeared  with  their 
pennies  were  notoriously  riff-raff.  At  eight  Miss  Ailie 
disconsolately  sent  Tommy  home,  but  he  was  back  in 
five  minutes. 

“There’s  a mask  of  them,”  he  told  her,  excitedly, 
“hanging  about,  but  feared  to  come  in  because  the 
others  would  see  them.  They  ’re  ashamed  to  have  it 
kent  that  they  belong  to  a charity  society,  and  Meggy 
Eobbie  is  wandering  round  the  Dovecot  wi’  her  penny 
wrapped  in  a paper,  and  Watty  Eattray  and  Eonny-On 
is  walking  up  and  down  the  brae  pretending  they  dinna 
ken  one  another,  and  auld  Connacher’s  Jeanie  Ann 
says  she  has  been  four  times  round  the  town  waiting  for 
Kitty  Elshioner  to  go  away,  and  there ’s  a one-leggit 
man  hodding  in  the  ditch,  and  Tibbie  Birse  is  out  wi’ 
a lantern  counting  them.” 

Miss  Ailie  did  not  know  what  to  do.  “ Here  ’s 
Jeanie  Ann’s  penny,”  Tommy  continued,  opening  his 
hand,  “ and  this  is  three  bawbees  f rae  Kitty  Elshioner 
and  you  and  me  is  no  to  tell  a soul  they  ’ve  joined.” 

A furtive  tapping  was  heard  at  the  door.  It  was 
Eonny-On,  who  had  skulked  forward  with  twopence, 
but  Gavinia  answered  his  knock,  so  he  just  said,  “Ay, 
Gavinia,  it ’s  yoursel’.  Well,  I’ll  be  stepping,”  and 


TOMMY  SOLVES  THE  WOMAN  PROBLEM  203 


would  have  retired  had  not  Miss  Ailie  caught  him. 
Even  then  he  said,  “ Three  bawbees  is  to  you  to  lay  by, 
and  one  bawbee  to  Gavinia  no  to  tell.” 

To  next  Monday  evening  Miss  Ailie  now  looked 
with  apprehension,  but  Tommy  lay  awake  that  night 
until,  to  use  a favorite  crow  of  his,  he  “ found  a way.” 
He  borrowed  the  school-mistress’s  blue-and-red  pencil 
and  sought  the  houses  of  the  sensitive  poor  with  the 
following  effect.  One  sample  will  suffice;  take  him  at 
the  door  of  Meggy  Eobbie  in  the  West  Muir,  which  he 
flung  open  with  the  effrontery  of  a tax-collector. 

“You’re  a three  P,”  he  said,  with  a wave  of  his 
pencil. 

4 “I’m  no  sic  thing ! ” cried  the  old  lady. 

“It  winna  do,  woman,”  Tommy  said  sternly.  “Miss 
Ailie  telled  me  you  paid  in  your  first  penny  on  the 
chap  of  ten.”  He  wetted  the  pencil  on  his  tongue  to 
show  that  it  was  vain  to  trifle  with  him,  and  Meggy 
bowed  her  head. 

“It’ll  be  through  the  town  that  I’ve  joined,”  she 
moaned,  but  Tommy  explained  that  he  was  there  to 
save  her. 

“I ’m  willing  to  come  to  your  house,”  he  said,  “and 
collect  the  money  every  week,  and  not  a soul  will  I 
tell  except  the  committee.” 

“ Kitty  Elshioner  would  see  you  coming,”  said  Meggy. 

“No,  no,  I’ll  creep  yont  the  hedge  and  climb  the 
hen-house.” 


204 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“But  it  would  be  a*  found  out  at  any  rate,”  she 
remembered,  “when  I go  for  the  peats  and  things  at 
Hogmanay.” 

“It  needna  be,”  eagerly  replied  Tommy.  “I  ’ll  bring 
them  to  you  in  a barrow  in  the  dead  o’  night.” 

“ Could  you  ? ” she  cried  passionately,  and  he 
promised  he  would,  and  it  may  be  mentioned  here  that 
he  did. 

“ And  what  for  yoursel’  ? ” she  inquired. 

“A  bawbee,”  he  said,  “the  night  afore  the  Muckley.” 

The  bargain  was  made,  but  before  he  could  get  away, 
“Tell  me,  laddie,”  said  Meggy,  coaxingly,  “has  Kitty 
Elshioner  joined  ?”  They  were  all  as  curious  to  know 
who  had  joined  as  they  were  anxious  to  keep  their  own 
membership  a secret;  but  Tommy  betrayed  none,  at 
least  none  who  agreed  to  his  proposal.  There  were  so 
many  of  these  that  on  the  night  before  the  Muckley  he 
had  thirteen  pence. 

“And  you  was  doing  good  all  the  time  you  was 
making  the  thirteen  pence,”  Elspeth  said,  fondly.  “I 
believe  that  was  the  reason  you  did  it.” 

“ I believe  it  was ! ” Tommy  exclaimed.  He  had  not 
thought  of  this  before,  but  it  was  easy  to  him  to  believe 
anything. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


THE  MUCKLEY 

Every  child  in  Thrums  went  to  bed  on  the  night 
before  the  Muckley  hugging  a pirly,  or,  as  the  vulgar 
say,  a money-box ; and  all  the  pirlies  were  ready  for 
to-morrow,  that  is  to  say,  the  mouths  of  them  had  been 
widened  with  gully  knives  by  owners  now  so  skilful  at 
the  jerk  which  sends  their  contents  to  the  floor  that 
pirlies  they  were  no  longer.  “ Disgorge ! ” was  the  uni- 
versal cry,  or,  in  the  vernacular,  “ Out  you  come,  you 
sweer  deevils  !” 

Not  a coin  but  had  its  history,  not  a boy  who  was 
unable  to  pick  out  his  own  among  a hundred.  The  black 
one  came  from  the  ’Sosh,  the  bent  lad  he  got  for  carrying 
in  Ronny-On’s  sticks.  Oh  michty  me,  sure  as  death  he 
had  nearly  forgotten  the  one  with  the  warts  on  it. 
Which  to  spend  first  ? The  goldy  one  ? Na  faags,  it 
was  ower  ill  to  come  by.  The  scartit  one  ? No,  no,  it 
was  a lucky.  Well,  then,  the  one  found  in  the  rat’s 
hole  ? (That  was  a day  !)  Ay,  dagont,  ay,  we  ’ll  make 
the  first  blatter  with  it. 

It  was  Tommy’s  first  Muckley,  and  the  report  that  he 
had  thirteen  pence  brought  him  many  advisers  about  its 


206 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


best  investment.  Even  Corp  Shiach  (five  pence)  sus- 
pended hostilities  for  this  purpose.  “ Mind  this,”  he 
said  solemnly,  “ there ’s  none  o’  the  candies  as  sucks  so 
long  as  Californy’s  Teuch  and  Tasty.  Other  kinds  may 
be  sweeter,  but  Teuch  and  Tasty  lasts  the  longest,  and 
what  a grip  it  has ! It  pulls  out  your  teeth ! ” Corp 
seemed  to  think  that  this  was  a recommendation. 

“ I ’in  nane  sure  o’  Teuch  and  Tasty,”  Birkie  said.  “ If 
you  dinna  keep  a watch  on  it,  it  slips  ower  when  you  ’re 
swallowing  your  spittle.” 

“ Then  you  should  tie  a string  to  it,”  suggested  Tommy, 
who  was  thought  more  of  from  that  hour. 

j Beware  of  Pickpockets ! Had  it  not  been  for  placards 
with  this  glorious  announcement  (it  is  the  state’s  first 
printed  acknowledgment  that  boys  and  girls  form  part 
of  the  body  politic)  you  might  have  thought  that  the 
night  before  the  Muckley  was  absurdly  like  other  nights. 
Not  a show  had  arrived,  not  a strange  dog,  no  romantic 
figures  were  wandering  the  streets  in  search  of  lodgings, 
no  stands  had  sprung  up  in  the  square.  You  could 
pass  hours  in  pretending  to  fear  that  when  the  morning 
came  there  would  be  no  fairyland.  And  all  the  time 
you  knew. 

About  ten  o’clock  Ballingall’s  cat  was  observed  wash- 
ing its  face,  a deliberate  attempt  to  bring  on  rain.  It 
was  immediately  put  to  death. 

Tommy  and  Elspeth  had  agreed  to  lie  awake  all  night ; 
if  Tommy  nipped  Elspeth,  Elspeth  would  nip  Tommy 


THE  MUCKLEY 


20? 


Other  children  had  made  the  same  arrangement,  though 
the  experienced  ones  were  aware  that  it  would  fail.  If 
it  was  true  that  all  the  witches  were  dead,  then  the 
streets  of  stands  and  shows  and  gaming-tables  and  shoot- 
ing-galleries were  erected  by  human  hands,  and  it  fol- 
lowed that  were  you  to  listen  through  the  night  you 
must  hear  the  hammers.  But  always  in  the  watches  the 
god  of  the  Muckley  came  unseen  and  glued  your  eyes, 
as  if  with  Teuch  and  Tasty,  and  while  you  slept — ° 
Up  you  woke  with  a start.  What  was  it  you  were 
to  mind  as  soon  as  you  woke  ? Listen ! That  ?s  a 
drum  beating ! It ’s  the  Muckley ! They  are  all  here ! 
It  has  begun!  Oh,  michty,  michty,  michty,  whaur’s  my 
breeks  ? 

When  Tommy,  with  Elspeth  and  Grizel,  set  off  excit- 
edly for  the  town,  the  country  folk  were  already  swarm 
ing  in.  The  Monypenny  road  was  thick  with  them, 
braw  loons  in  blue  bonnets  with  red  bobs  to  them,  tartan 
waistcoats,  scarves  of  every  color,  woollen  shirts  as  gay, 
and  the  strutting  wearers  in  two  minds  — whether  to 
take  off  the  scarf  to  display  the  shirt,  or  hide  the  shirt 
and  trust  to  the  scarf.  Came  lassies,  too,  in  wincey 
bodices  they  were  like  to  burst  through,  and  they  were 
listening  apprehensively  as  they  ploughed  onward  for  a 
tearing  at  the  seams.  There  were  red-headed  lasses 
yellow-chy-headed  and  black-headed,  blue-shawled  and 
red-shawled  lasses ; boots  on  every  one  of  them,  stock 
ings  almost  as  common,  the  skirt  kilted  up  for  the  pres 


208 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


ent,  but  down  it  should  go  when  they  were  in  the  thick 
of  things,  and  then  it  must  take  care  of  itself.  All  were 
solemn  and  sheepish  as  yet,  but  wait  a bit. 

The  first-known  face  our  three  met  was  Corp.  He 
was  only  able  to  sign  to  them,  because  Californy’s  spe- 
cialty had  already  done  its  work  and  glued  his  teeth 
together.  He  was  off  to  the  smithy  to  be  melted,  but 
gave  them  to  understand  that  though  awkward  it  was 
glorious.  Then  came  Birkie,  who  had  sewn  up  the 
mouths  of  his  pockets,  all  but  a small  slit  in  each,  as  a 
precaution  against  pickpockets,  and  was  now  at  his  own 
request  being  held  upside  down  by  the  Haggerty-Tag- 
gertys  on  the  chance  that  a half-penny  which  had  disap- 
peared mysteriously  might  fall  out.  A more  tragic 
figure  was  Francie  Crabb  (one  and  seven  pence),  who, 
like  a mad,  mad  thing,  had  taken  all  his  money  to  the 
fair  at  once.  In  ten  minutes  he  had  bought  fourteen 
musical  instruments. 

Tommy  and  party  had  not  yet  reached  the  celebrated 
corner  of  the  west  town  end  where  the  stands  began,  but 
they  were  near  it,  and  he  stopped  to  give  Grizel  and 
Elspeth  his  final  instructions  : (1)  Keep  your  money  in 
your  purse,  and  your  purse  in  your  hand,  and  your  hand 
in  your  pocket ; (2)  if  you  lose  me,  I ’ll  give  Shovel’s 
whistle,  and  syne  you  maun  squeeze  and  birse  your  way 
back  to  me.” 

Now  then,  are  you  ready  ? Bang  ! They  were  in  it. 
Strike  up,  ye  fiddlers ; drums,  break ; tooters,  fifers,  at 


THE  MUCKLEY 


209 


it  for  your  lives ; trumpets,  blow  ; bagpipes,  skirl ; music- 
boxes,  all  together  now  — Tommy  has  arrived. 

Even  before  he  had  seen  Thrums,  except  with  his 
mother’s  eye,  Tommy  knew  that  the  wise  begin  the  Muck- 
ley  by  measuring  its  extent.  That  the  square  and  adjoin- 
ing wynds  would  be  crammed  was  a law  of  nature,  but 
boyhood  drew  imaginary  lines  across  the  Eoods,  the 
west  town  end,  the  east  town  end,  and  the  brae,  and  if 
the  stands  did  not  reach  these  there  had  been  retrogres- 
sion. Tommy  found  all  well  in  two  quarters,  got  a nasty 
shock  on  the  brae,  but  medicine  for  it  in  the  Eoods ; on 
the  whole,  yelled  a hundred  children,  by  way  of  greet- 
ing to  each  other,  a better  Muckley  than  ever. 

From  those  who  loved  them  best,  the  more  notable 
Muckleys  got  distinctive  names  for  convenience  of  ref- 
erence. As  shall  be  ostentatiously  shown  in  its  place, 
there  was  a Muckley  called  (and  by  Corp  Shiach,  too) 
after  Tommy,  but  this,  his  first,  was  dubbed  Sewster’s 
Muckley,  in  honor  of  a seamstress  who  hanged  herself 
that  day  in  the  Three-cornered  Wood.  Poor  little  se wa- 
ster, she  had  known  joyous  Muckleys  too,  but  now  she 
was  up  in  the  Three-cornered  Wood  hanging  herself, 
aged  nineteen.  I know  nothing  more  of  her,  except  that 
in  her  maiden  days  when  she  left  the  house  her  mother 
always  came  to  the  door  to  look  proudly  after  her. 

How  to  describe  the  scene,  when  owing  to  the  throng 
a boy  could  only  peer  at  it  between  legs  or  through  the 
crook  of  a woman’s  arm?  Shovel  would  have  run  up 

14 


210 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


ploughmen  to  get  his  bird’s-eye  view,  and  he  could  have 
told  Tommy  what  he  saw,  and  Tommy  could  have  made 
a picture  of  it  in  his  mind,  every  figure  ten  feet  high. 
But  perhaps  to  be  lost  in  it  was  best.  You  had  but  to 
dive  and  come  up  anywhere  to  find  something  amazing ; 
you  fell  over  a box  of  jumping-jacks  into  a new  world. 

Everyone  to  his  taste.  If  you  want  Tommy’s  senti- 
ments,  here  they  are,  condensed : “ The  shows  surpass 
everything  else  on  earth.  Four  streets  of  them  in  the 
square  ! The  best  is  the  menagerie,  because  there  is  the 
loudest  roaring  there.  Kick  the  caravans  and  you  in- 
crease the  roaring.  Admission,  however,  prohibitive 
(threepence).  More  economical  to  stand  outside  the 
show  of  the  6 Mountain  Maid  and  the  Shepherd’s  Bride 9 
and  watch  the  merriman  saying  funny  things  to  the 
monkey.  Take  care  you  don’t  get  in  front  of  the  steps, 
else  you  will  be  pressed  up  by  those  behind  and  have  to 
pay  before  you  have  decided  that  you  want  to  go  in. 
When  you  fling  pennies  at  the  Mountain  Maid  and  the 
Shepherd’s  Bride  they  stop  play-acting  and  scramble  for 
them.  Go  in  at  night  when  there  are  drunk  ploughmen 
to  fling  pennies.  The  Fat  Wife  with  the  Golden  Locks 
lets  you  put  your  fingers  in  her  arms,  but  that  is  soon 
over.  ‘The  Slave-driver  and  his  Victims.’  Not  worth 
the  money;  they  are  not  blooding.  To  Jerusalem  and 
Back  in  a Jiffy.  This  is  a swindle.  You  just  keek 
through  holes.” 

But  Elspeth  was  of  a different  mind.  She  liked  To 


THE  MUCKLEY 


2ll 


Jerusalem  and  Back  best,  and  gave  the  Slave-driver  and 
his  Victims  a penny  to  be  Christians.  The  only  show 
she  disliked  was  the  wax-work,  where  was  performed 
the  “ Tragedy  of  Tiffano  and  the  Haughty  Princess.” 
Tiffano  loved  the  woodman’s  daughter,  and  so  he  would 
not  have  the  Haughty  Princess,  and  so  she  got  a magi* 
cian  to  turn  him  into  a pumpkin,  and  then  she  ate  him. 
What  distressed  Elspeth  was  that  Tiffano  could  never 
get  to  heaven  now,  and  all  the  consolation  Tommy, 
doing  his  best,  could  give  her  was,  “He  could  go,  no 
doubt  he  could  go,  but  he  would  have  to  take  the 
Haughty  Princess  wi’  him,  and  he  would  be  sweer  to 
do  that.” 

Grizel  reflected:  “If  I had  a whip  like  the  one  the 
Slave-driver  has  should  n’t  I lash  the  boys  who  hoot  my 
mamma!  I wish  I could  turn  boys  into  pumpkins. 
The  Mountain  Maid  wore  a beautiful  muslin  with  gold 
lace,  but  she  does  not  wash  her  neck.” 

Lastly,  let  Corp  have  his  say : “ I looked  at  the  oub 
side  of  the  shows,  but  always  landed  back  at  Californy’s 
stand.  Sucking  is  better  nor  near  anything.  The  Teuch 
and  Tasty  is  stickier  than  ever.  I have  lost  twa  teeth. 
The  Mountain  Maid  is  biding  all  night  at  Tibbie  Birse’s, 
and  I went  in  to  see  her.  She  had  a bervie  and  a boiled 
egg  to  her  tea.  She  likes  her  eggs  saft  wi’  a lick  of 
butter  in  them.  The  Pat  Wife  is  the  one  I like  best 
She ’s  biding  wi’  Shilpit  Kaytherine  on  the  Tanage  Brae 
She  weighs  Jeems  and  Kaytherine  and  the  sma’  black 


212 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


swine.  She  had  an  ingin  to  her  tea.  The  Slave-driver’s 
a fushinless  body.  One  o’  the  Victims  gives  him  his 
licks.  They  a ’ bide  in  the  caravan.  You  can  stand  on 
the  wheel  and  keek  in.  They  had  herrings  wi’  the  rans 
to  their  tea.  I cut  a hole  in  J erusalem  and  Back,  and 
there  was  no  Jerusalem  there.  The  man  as  ocht  Jeru- 
salem greets  because  the  Fair  Circassian  winna  take 
him.  He  is  biding  a’  night  wi’  Blinder.  He  likes  a 
dram  in  his  tea.” 

Elspeth’s  money  lasted  till  four  o’clock.  For  Aaron, 
almost  the  only  man  in  Thrums  who  shunned  the  revels 
that  day,  she  bought  a gingerbread  house ; and  the 
miraculous  powder  which  must  be  taken  on  a sixpence 
was  to  make  Blinder  see  again,  but  unfortunately  he 
forgot  about  putting  it  on  the  sixpence.  And  of  course 
there  was  something  for  a certain  boy.  Grizel  had  com- 
pleted her  purchases  by  five  o’clock,  when  Tommy  was 
still  heavy  with  threepence  halfpenny.  They  included 
a fluffy  pink  shawl,  she  did  not  say  for  whom,  but  the 
Painted  Lady  wore  it  afterwards,  and  for  herself  another 
doll. 

“ But  that  doll’s  leg  is  broken,”  Tommy  pointed  out. 

“That  was  why  I bought  it,”  she  said  warmly,  “I 
feel  so  sorry  for  it,  the  darling,”  and  she  carried  it  care- 
fully so  that  the  poor  thing  might  suffer  as  little  pain  as 
possible. 

Twice  they  rushed  home  for  hasty  meals,  and  were 
back  so  quickly  that  Tommy’s  shadow  strained  a muscle 


THE  MUCKLEY 


213 


In  turning  with  him.  Night  came  on,  and  from  a hun- 
dred strings  stretched  along  stands  and  shows  there 
now  hung  thousands  of  long  tin  things  like  trumpets. 
One  burning  paper  could  set  a dozen  of  these  ablaze, 
and  no  sooner  were  they  lit  than  a wind  that  had  been 
biding  its  time  rushed  in  like  the  merriman,  making  the 
lamps  swing  on  their  strings,  so  that  the  flaring  lights 
embraced,  and  from  a distance  Thrums  seemed  to  be 
on  fire. 

Even  Grizel  was  willing  to  hold  Tommy’s  hand  now, 
and  the  three  could  only  move  this  way  and  that  as  the 
roaring  crowd  carried  them.  They  were  not  looking  at 
the  Muckley,  they  were  part  of  it,  and  at  last  Thrums 
was  all  Tommy’s  fancy  had  painted  it.  This  intoxicated 
him,  so  that  he  had  to  scream  at  intervals,  “We  ’re  here, 
Elspeth,  I tell  you,  we  ’re  here ! ” and  he  became  pugna- 
cious and  asked  youths  twice  his  size  whether  they  de- 
nied that  he  was  here,  and  if  so,  would  they  come  on. 
In  this  frenzy  he  was  seen  by  Miss  Ailie,  who  had  stolen 
out  in  a veil  to  look  for  Gavinia,  but  just  as  she  was 
about  to  reprove  him,  dreadful  men  asked  her  was  she 
in  search  of  a lad,  whereupon  she  fled  home  and  barred 
the  door,  and  later  in  the  evening  warned  Gavinia, 
through  the  key-hole,  taking  her  for  a roystering  blade, 
that  there  were  policemen  in  the  house,  to  which  the 
astounding  reply  of  Gavinia,  then  aged  twelve,  was, 
“No  sic  luck.” 

With  the  darkness,  too,  crept  into  the  Muckley  cer 


214 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


tain  devils  in  the  color  of  the  night  who  spoke  thickly 
and  rolled  braw  lads  in  the  mire,  and  egged  on  friends 
to  fight  and  cast  lewd  thoughts  into  the  minds  of  the 
women.  At  first  the  men  had  been  bashful  swains.  To 
the  women’s  “Gie  me  my  faring,  Jock,”  they  had  re- 
plied, "Wait,  Jean,  till  I’m  fee’d,”  but  by  night  most 
had  got  their  arles,  with  a dram  above  it,  and  he  who 
could  only  guffaw  at  Jean  a few  hours  ago  had  her 
round  the  waist  now,  and  still  an  arm  free  for  rough 
play  with  other  kimmers.  The  Jeans  were  as  boister- 
ous as  the  Jocks,  giving  them  leer  for  leer,  running 
from  them  with  a giggle,  waiting  to  be  caught  and 
rudely  kissed.  Grand,  patient,  long-suffering  fellows 
these  men  were,  up  at  five,  summer  and  winter,  fodder- 
ing their  horses,  maybe  hours  before  there  would  be 
food  for  themselves,  miserably  paid,  housed  like  cattle, 
and  when  the  rheumatism  seized  them,  liable  to  be  flung 
aside  like  a broken  graip.  As  hard  was  the  life  of  the 
women:  coarse  food,  chaff  beds,  damp  clothes,  their  por- 
tion; their  sweethearts  in  the  service  of  masters  who 
were  reluctant  to  fee  a married  man.  Is  it  to  be  won- 
dered that  these  lads  who  could  be  faithful  unto  death 
drank  soddenly  on  their  one  free  day,  that  these  girls, 
starved  of  opportunities  for  womanliness,  of  which  they 
could  make  as  much  as  the  finest  lady,  sometimes  woke 
after  a Muckley  to  wish  that  they  might  wake  no  more  ? 

Our  three  brushed  shoulders  with  the  devils  that 
had  been  let  loose,  but  hardly  saw  them  ; they  heard 


THE  MUCKLEY 


215 


them,  but  did  not  understand  their  tongue.  The  eight- 
o’clock  bell  had  rung  long  since,  and  though  the  racket 
was  as  great  as  ever,  it  was  only  because  every  reveller 
left  now  made  the  noise  of  two.  Mothers  were  out  fish- 
ing for  their  bairns.  The  Haggerfcy-Taggertys  had 
straggled  home  hoarse  as  crows;  every  one  of  them 
went  to  bed  that  night  with  a stocking  round  his  throat. 
Of  Monypenny  boys,  Tommy  could  find  none  in  the 
square  but  Corp,  who,  with  another  tooth  missing, 
had  been  going  about  since  six  o’clock  with  his  pockets 
hanging  out,  as  a sign  that  all  was  over.  An  awkward 
silence  had  fallen  on  the  trio ; the  reason,  that  Tommy 
had  only  threepence  left  and  the  smallest  of  them  cost 
threepence.  The  reference  of  course  is  to  the  wondrous 
gold-paper  packets  of  sweets  (not  unlike  crackers  in 
appearance)  which  are  only  seen  at  the  Muckley,  and 
are  what  every  girl  claims  of  her  lad  or  lads.  Now, 
Tommy  had  vowed  to  Elspeth  — But  he  had  also  said 
to  Grizel  — In  short,  how  could  he  buy  for  both  with 
threepence  ? 

Grizel,  as  the  stranger,  ought  to  get  — But  he  knew 
Elspeth  too  well  to  believe  that  she  would  dry  her  eyes 
with  that. 

Elspeth  being  his  sister — But  he  had  promised  Grizel, 
and  she  had  been  so  ill  brought  up  that  she  said  nasty 
things  when  you  broke  your  word. 

The  gold  packet  was  bought.  That  is  it  sticking  out 
of  Tommy’s  inside  pocket.  The  girls  saw  it  and  knew 


216 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


what  was  troubling  him,  but  not  a word  was  spoken  now 
between  the  three.  They  set  off  for  home  self-con- 
sciously, Tommy  the  least  agitated  on  the  whole,  be- 
cause he  need  not  make  up  his  mind  for  another  ten 
minutes.  But  he  wished  Grizel  would  not  look  at  him 
sideways  and  then  rock  her  arms  in  irritation.  They 
passed  many  merry-makers  homeward  bound,  many  ot 
them  following  a tortuous  course,  for  the  Scottish  toper 
gives  way  first  in  the  legs,  the  Southron  in  the  other 
extremity,  and  thus  between  them  could  be  constructed 
a man  wholly  sober  and  another  as  drunk  as  Chloe. 
But  though  the  highway  clattered  with  many  feet,  not 
a soul  was  in  the  double  dykes,  and  at  the  easy  end  of 
that  formidable  path  Grizel  came  to  a determined  stop. 

“ Good-night,”  she  said,  with  such  a disdainful  glance 
at  Tommy. 

He  had  not  made  up  his  mind  yet,  but  he  saw  that  it 
must  be  done  now,  and  to  take  a decisive  step  was  always 
agony  to  him,  though  once  taken  it  ceased  to  trouble.  To 
dodge  it  for  another  moment  he  said,  weakly : “ Let ’s 
— let  ’s  sit  down  a whiley  on  the  dyke.” 

But  Grizel,  while  coveting  the  packet,  because  she  had 
never  got  a present  in  her  life,  would  not  shilly-shally. 
“ Are  you  to  give  it  to  Elspeth  ? ” she  asked,  with  the  horrid 
directness  that  is  so  trying  to  an  intellect  like  Tommy’s. 

“ N-no,”  he  said. 

“To  Grizel?”  cried  Elspeth. 
uN-no,”  he  said  again. 


THE  MUCKLEY 


217 


It  was  an  undignified  moment  for  a great  boy,  but  the 
providence  that  watched  over  Tommy  until  it  tired  of 
him  came  to  his  aid  in  the  nick  of  time.  It  took  the 
form  of  the  Painted  Lady,  who  appeared  suddenly  out 
of  the  gloom  of  the  Double  Dykes.  Two  of  the  children 
jumped,  and  the  third  clenched  her  little  fists  to  defend 
her  mamma  if  Tommy  cast  a word  at  her.  But  he  did 
not ; his  mouth  remained  foolishly  open.  The  Painted 
Lady  had  been  talking  cheerfully  to  herself,  but  she 
drew  back  apprehensively,  with  a look  of  appeal  on  her 
face,  and  then  — and  then  Tommy  “saw  a way.”  He 
handed  her  the  gold  packet,  “ It  ’s  to  you,”  he  said,  “ it ’s 
— it ’s  your  Muckley ! ” 

For  a moment  she  was  afraid  to  take  it,  but  when  she 
knew  that  this  sweet  boy’s  gift  was  genuine,  she  fondled 
it  and  was  greatly  flattered,  and  dropped  him  the  quaint- 
est courtesy  and  then  looked  defiantly  at  Grizel.  But 
Grizel  did  not  take  it  from  her.  Instead,  she  flung  her 
arms  impulsively  round  Tommy’s  neck,  she  was  so  glad, 
glad,  glad. 

As  Tommy  and  Elspeth  walked  away  to  their  home, 
Elspeth  could  hear  him  breathing  heavily,  and  occasion- 
ally he  gave  her  a furtive  glance. 

“Grizel  needna  have  done  that,”  she  said,  sharply. 

“ No,”  replied  Tommy. 

“ But  it  was  noble  of  you,”  she  continued,  squeezing 
his  hand,  “ to  give  it  to  the  Painted  Lady.  Did  you 
mean  to  give  it  to  her  a’  the  time  ? ” 


218 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Oh,  Elspeth!” 

“But  did  you?” 

“Oh,  Elspeth! ” 

“ That  ’s  no  you  greeting,  is  it  ? ” she  asked,  softly. 
“I’m  near  the  greeting,”  he  said  truthfully,  “but 
I’m  no  sure  what  about.”  His  sympathy  was  so  easily 
aroused  that  he  sometimes  cried  without  exactly  know 
ing  why, 

“ It ’s  because  you  ’re  so  good,”  Elspeth  told  him ; but 
presently  she  said,  with  a complete  change  of  voice, 
“No,  Grizel  needna  have  done  that.” 

“ It  was  a shameful  thing  to  do,”  Tommy  agreed, 
shaking  his  head.  “ But  she  did  it ! ” he  added  trium- 
phantly ; “ you  saw  her  do  it,  Elspeth  ! ” 

“But  you  didna  like  it  ? ” Elspeth  asked,  in  terror. 
“No,  of  course  I didna  like  it,  but  — ” 

“ But  what,  Tommy  ? ” 

“But  I liked  her  to  like  it,”  he  admitted,  and  by  and 
by  he  began  to  laugh  hysterically.  “ I ’m  no  sure  what 
I’m  laughing  at,”  he  said,  “but  I think  it’s  at  mysel’.” 
He  may  have  laughed  at  himself  before,  but  this  Muckley 
is  memorable  as  the  occasion  on  which  he  first  caught 
himself  doing  it.  The  joke  grew  with  the  years,  until 
sometimes  he  laughed  in  his  most  emotional  moments, 
suddenly  seeing  himself  in  his  true  light.  But  it  had 
become  a bitter  laugh  by  that  time. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


COBP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  HEEL — GRIZEL  DEFIANT 

Corp  Shiach  was  a bare-footed  colt  of  a boy,  of  urn 
gainly  build,  with  a nose  so  thick  and  turned  up  that  it 
was  a certificate  of  character,  and  his  hands  were  covered 
with  warts,  which  he  had  a trick  of  biting  till  they  bled. 
Then  he  rubbed  them  on  his  trousers,  which  were  the 
picturesque  part  of  him,  for  he  was  at  present  “ serving  ” 
to  the  masons  (he  had  “ earned  his  keep”  since  long  be 
fore  he  could  remember),  and  so  wore  the  white  or  yellow 
ducks  which  the  dust  of  the  quarry  stains  a rarer  orange 
color  than  is  known  elsewhere.  The  orange  of  the 
masons’  trousers,  the  blue  of  the  hearthstones,  these  are 
the  most  beautiful  colors  to  be  seen  in  Thrums,  though 
of  course  Corp  was  unaware  of  it.  He  was  really  very 
good-natured,  and  only  used  his  fists  freely  because  of 
imagination  he  had  none,  and  thinking  made  him  sweat, 
and  consequently  the  simplest  way  of  proving  his  case 
was  to  say,  " I ’ll  fight  you.”  What  might  have  been  the 
issue  of  a conflict  between  him  and  Shovel  was  a problem 
for  Tommy  to  puzzle  over.  Shovel  was  as  quick  as  Corp 
was  deliberate,  and  would  have  danced  round  him,  put- 


220 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


ting  in  unexpected  ones,  but  if  he  had  remained  just  one 

moment  too  long  within  Corpus  reach 

They  nicknamed  him  Corp  because  he  took  fits,  when 
he  lay  like  one  dead.  He  was  proud  of  his  fits,  was 
Corp,  but  they  were  a bother  to  him,  too,  because  he 
could  make  so  little  of  them.  They  interested  doctors 
and  other  carriage  folk,  who  came  to  his  aunt’s  house  to 
put  their  fingers  into  him,  and  gave  him  sixpence,  and 
would  have  given  him  more,  but  when  they  pressed  him 
to  tell  them  what  he  remembered  about  his  fits,  he  could 
only  answer  dejectedly,  “ Not  a damned  thing.” 

“ You  might  as  well  no  have  them  ava,”  his  wrathful 
aunt,  with  whom  he  lived,  would  say,  and  she  thrashed 
him  until  his  size  forbade  it. 

Soon  after  the  Muckley  came  word  that  the  Lady  of 
the  Spittal  was  to  be  brought  to  see  Corp  by  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
the  school-master  of  Glen  Quharity,  and  at  first  Corp 
boasted  of  it,  but  as  the  appointed  day  drew  near  he 
became  uneasy. 

" The  worst  o’t,”  he  said  to  anyone  who  would  listen, 
"is  that  my  auntie  is  to  be  away  frae  hame,  and  so 
they’ll  put  a’  their  questions  to  me.” 

The  Haggerty-Taggertys  and  Birkie  were  so  jealous 
that  they  said  they  were  glad  they  never  had  fits,  but 
Tommy  made  no  such  pretence. 

“ Oh,  Corp,  if  I had  thae  fits  of  yours ! ” he  exclaimed 
greedily. 

u If  they  were  mine  to  give  awa’,”  replied  Corp  sub 


CORP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  HEEL 


221 


lenly,  “you  could  have  them  and  welcome.”  Grown 
meek  in  his  trouble,  he  invited  Tommy  to  speak  freely, 
with  the  result  that  his  eyes  were  partially  opened 
to  the  superiority  of  that  boy’s  attainments.  Tommy 
told  him  a number  of  interesting  things  to  say  to  Mr, 
Ogilvy  and  the  lady  about  his  fits,  about  how  queer  he 
felt  just  before  they  came  on,  and  the  visions  he  had 
while  he  was  lying  stiff.  But  though  the  admiring  Corp 
gave  attentive  ear,  he  said  hopelessly  next  day,  “Not  a 
dagont  thing  do  I mind.  When  they  question  me  about 
my  fits  I ’ll  just  say  I ’m  sometimes  in  them  and  some- 
times out  o’  them,  and  if  they  badger  me  more,  I can  aye 
kick.” 

Tommy  gave  him  a look  that  meant,  “Fits  are  just 
wasted  on  you,”  and  Corp  replied  with  another  that 
meant,  “ I ken  they  are.”  Then  they  parted,  one  of  them 
to  reflect. 

“Corp,”  he  said  excitedly,  when  next  they  met,  “has 
Mr.  Ogilvy  or  the  lady  ever  come  to  see  you  afore  ? ” 

They  had  not,  and  Corp  was  able  to  swear  that  they 
did  not  even  know  him  by  sight. 

“They  dinna  ken  me  either,”  said  Tommy. 

“ What  does  that  matter  ? ” asked  Corp,  but  Tommy 
was  too  full  to  speak.  He  had  “found  a way.” 

The  lady  and  Mr.  Ogilvy  found  Corp  such  a success 
that  the  one  gave  him  a'shilling  and  the  other  took  down 
his  reminiscences  in  a note-book.  But  if  you  would  hear 
of  the  rings  of  blue  and  white  and  yellow  Corp  saw,  and 


222 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


of  the  other  extraordinary  experiences  he  described  him- 
self as  having  when  in  a fit,  you  need  not  search  that 
note-book,  for  the  page  has  been  torn  out.  Instead  of 
making  inquiries  of  Mr.  Ogilvy,  try  any  other  dominie 
in  the  district,  Mr.  Cathro,  for  instance,  who  delighted 
to  tell  the  tale.  This  of  course  was  when  it  leaked  out 
that  Tommy  had  personated  Corp,  by  arrangement  with 
the  real  Corp,  who  was  listening  in  rapture  beneath  the 
bed. 

Tommy,  who  played  his  part  so  well  that  he  came  out 
of  it  in  a daze,  had  Corp  at  heel  from  that  hour.  He 
told  him  what  a rogue  he  had  been  in  London,  and  Corp 
cried  admiringly,  “ Oh,  you  deevil ! oh,  you  queer  little 
deevil!  ” and  sometimes  it  was  Elspeth  who  was  narra- 
tor, and  then  Tommy’s  noble  acts  were  the  subject ; but 
still  Corp’s  comment  was  “ Oh,  the  deevil ! oh,  the  queer 
little  deevil ! ” Elspeth  was  flattered  by  his  hero-wor- 
ship, but  his  language  shocked  her,  and  after  consulting 
Miss  Ailie  she  advised  him  to  count  twenty  when  he  felt 
an  oath  coming,  at  the  end  of  which  exercise  the  desire 
to  swear  would  have  passed  away.  Good-natured  Corp 
willingly  promised  to  try  this,  but  he  was  never  hopeful, 
and  as  he  explained  to  Tommy,  after  a failure,  “ It  just 
made  me  waur  than  ever,  for  when  I had  counted  the 
twenty  I said  a big  Damn,  thoughtful-like,  and  syne  out 
jumpit  three  little  damns,  like  as  if  the  first  ane  had 
cleckit  in  my  mouth.” 

It  was  fortunate  that  Elspeth  liked  Corp  on  the  whole, 


COUP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  HEEL 


223 


for  during  the  three  years  now  to  be  rapidly  passed  over, 
Tommy  took  delight  in  his  society,  though  he  never 
treated  him  as  an  equal;  Corp  indeed  did  not  expect 
that,  and  was  humbly  grateful  for  what  he  got.  In 
summer,  fishing  was  their  great  diversion.  They  would 
set  off  as  early  as  four  in  the  morning,  fishing  wands  in 
hand,  and  scour  the  world  for  trout,  plodding  home  in 
the  gloaming  with  stones  in  their  fishing-basket  to  de- 
ceive those  who  felt  its  weight.  In  the  long  winter 
nights  they  liked  best  to  listen  to  Blinder’s  tales  of  the 
Thrums  Jacobites,  tales  never  put  into  writing,  but 
handed  down  from  father  to  son,  and  proved  true  in  the 
oddest  of  ways,  as  by  Blinder’s  trick  of  involuntarily 
holding  out  his  hands  to  a fire  when  he  found  himself 
near  one,  though  he  might  be  sweating  to  the  shirt  and 
the  time  a July  forenoon.  “ I make  no  doubt,”  he  told 
them,  “ as  I do  that  because  my  forbear,  Buchan  Osier 
(called  Buchan  wi’  the  Haap  after  the  wars  was  ower), 
had  to  hod  so  lang  frae  the  troopers,  and  them  so  greedy 
for  him  that  he  daredna  crawl  to  a fire  once  in  an  eight 
days.” 

The  Lord  of  the  Spittal  and  handsome  Captain  Body 
(whose  being  “out”  made  all  the  women  anxious) 
marched  through  the  Den,  flapping  their  wings  at  the 
head  of  a fearsome  retinue,  and  the  Thrums  folk  looked 
so  glum  at  them  that  gay  Captain  Body  said  he  should 
kiss  every  lass  who  did  not  cheer  for  Charlie,  and  none 
cheered,  but  at  the  same  time  none  ran  away.  Few  in 


224 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Thrums  cared  a doit  for  Charlie,  but  some  hung  on  be- 
hind this  troop  till  there  was  no  turning  back  for  them, 
and  one  of  these  was  Buchan.  He  forced  his  wife  to 
give  Captain  Body  a white  rose  from  her  bush  by  the 
door,  but  a thorn  in  it  pricked  the  gallant,  and  the  blood 
from  his  fingers  fell  on  the  bush,  and  from  that  year  it 
grew  red  roses. 

“ If  you  dinna  believe  me/5  Blinder  said,  “ look  if  the 
roses  is  no  red  on  the  bush  at  Pyotdykes,  which  was  a 
split  frae  Buchan’s,  and  speir  whether  they  5re  no  named 
the  blood  rose.55 

“I  believe  you,55  Tommy  would  say  breathlessly: 
“go  on.55 

Captain  Body  was  back  in  the  Den  by  and  by,  but 
he  had  no  thought  of  preeing  lasses5  mouths  now.  His 
face  was  scratched  and  haggard  and  his  gay  coat  torn, 
and  when  he  crawled  to  the  Cuttle  Well  he  caught  some 
of  the  water  in  his  bonnet  and  mixed  meal  with  it, 
stirring  the  precious  compound  with  his  finger  and 
using  the  loof  of  his  hand  as  a spoon.  Every  stick  of 
furniture  Buchan  and  the  other  Thrums  rebels  pos- 
sessed was  seized  by  the  government  and  rouped  in  the 
market-place  of  Thrums,  but  few  would  bid  against  the 
late  owners,  for  whom  the  things  were  secretly  bought 
back  very  cheaply. 

To  these  and  many  similar  stories  Tommy  listened 
open-mouthed,  seeing  the  scene  far  more  vividly  than 
the  narrator,  who  became  alarmed  at  his  quick,  loud 


CORP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  HEEL 


22f 


breathing,  and  advised  him  to  forget  them  and  go 
back  to  his  lessons.  But  his  lessons  never  interested 
Tommy,  and  he  would  go  into  the  Den  instead,  and  re- 
peat Blinder’s  legends,  with  embellishments  which  made 
them  so  real  that  Corp  and  Elspeth  and  Grizel  were  afraid 
to  look  behind  them  lest  the  spectre  of  Captain  Body 
should  be  standing  there,  leaning  on  a ghostly  sword. 

At  such  times  Elspeth  kept  a firm  grip  of  Tommy’s 
hand,  but  one  evening  as  they  all  ran  panic-stricken 
from  some  imaginary  alarm,  she  lost  him  near  the 
Cuttle  Well,  and  then,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  the  Den 
became  suddenly  very  dark  and  lonely.  At  first  she 
thought  she  had  it  to  herself,  but  as  she  stole  timidly 
along  the  pink  path  she  heard  voices,  and  she  cried 
“Tommy!  ” joyously.  But  no  answer  came,  so  it  could 
not  be  Tommy.  Then  she  thought  it  must  be  a pair  of 
lovers,  but  next  moment  she  stood  transfixed  with  fear, 
for  it  was  the  Painted  Lady,  who  was  coming  along  the 
path  talking  aloud  to  herself.  No,  not  to  herself  — to 
someone  she  evidently  thought  was  by  her  side;  she 
called  him  darling  and  other  sweet  names,  and  waited 
for  his  replies  and  nodded  pleased  assent  to  them,  or 
pouted  at  them,  and  terrified  Elspeth  knew  that  she 
was  talking  to  the  man  vho  never  came. 

When  she  saw  Elspeth  she  stopped  irresolutely,  and 
the  two  stood  looking  in  fear  at  each  other.  “ You  are 
not  my  brat,  are  you  ? ” the  Painted  Lady  asked. 

“N-no,”  the  child  gasped. 

15 


226 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Then  why  don’t  yon  call  me  nasty  names  ?” 

“I  dinna  never  call  you  names/’  Elspeth  replied,  but 
the  woman  still  looked  puzzled. 

“ Perhaps  you  are  naughty  also  ? ” she  said  doubt- 
fully, and  then,  as  if  making  up  her  mind  that  it  must 
be  so,  she  came  closer  and  said,  with  a voice  full  of 
pity:  “I  am  so  sorry.” 

Elspeth  did  not  understand  half  of  it,  but  the  pity- 
ing voice,  which  was  of  the  rarest  sweetness,  drove 
away  much  of  her  fear,  and  she  said : “ Do  you  no  mind 
me?  I was  wi’  Tommy  when  he  gave  you  the  gold 
packet  on  Muckley  night.” 

Then  the  Painted  Lady  remembered.  “ He  took  such 
a fancy  to  me,”  she  said,  with  a pleased  simper,  and 
then  she  looked  serious  again. 

“Do  you  love  him  ?”  she  asked,  and  Elspeth  nodded. 
“ But  is  he  all  the  world  to  you  ? ” 

“Yes,”  Elspeth  said. 

The  Painted  Lady  took  her  by  the  arm  and  said 
impressively,  “Don’t  let  him  know.” 

“But  he  does  know,”  said  Elspeth. 

“I  am  so  sorry,”  the  Painted  Lady  said  again. 
“ When  they  know  too  well,  then  they  have  no  pity.” 
“But  I want  Tommy  to  know,”  Elspeth  insisted. 
“That  is  the  woful  thing,  the  Painted  Lady  said, 
rocking  her  arms  in  a way  that  reminded  the  child  of 
Grizel.  “We  want  them  to  know,  we  cannot  help 
liking  them  to  know  I” 


CORP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  HEEL 


227 


Suddenly  she  became  confidential.  “ Do  you  think  I 
showed  my  love  too  openly?”  she  asked  eagerly.  “I 
tried  to  hide  it,  you  know.  I covered  my  face  with  my 
hands,  but  he  pulled  them  away,  and  then,  of  course, 
he  knew.” 

She  went  on,  “I  kissed  his  horse’s  nose,  and  he  said 
I did  that  because  it  was  his  horse.  How  could  he 
know  ? When  I asked  him  how  he  knew,  he  kissed 
me,  and  I pretended  to  be  angry  and  ran  away.  But  I 
was  not  angry,  and  I said  to  myself,  ‘ I am  glad,  I am 
glad,  I am  glad!* 

“I  wanted  so  to  be  good,  but  — It  is  so  difficult  to 
refuse  when  you  love  him  very  much,  don’t  you 
think?” 

The  pathos  of  that  was  lost  on  the  girl,  and  the 
Painted  Lady  continued  sadly ; “ It  would  be  so  nice, 
would  it  not,  if  they  liked  us  to  be  good  ? I think  it 
would  be  sweet.”  She  bent  forward  and  whispered 
emphatically,  " But  they  don’t,  you  know  — it  bores 
them. 

“ Never  bore  them  — and  they  are  so  easily  bored ! It 
bores  them  if  you  say  you  want  to  be  married.  I think 
it  would  be  sweet  to  be  married,  but  you  should  never 
ask  for  a wedding.  They  give  you  everything  else, 
but  if  you  say  you  want  a wedding,  they  stamp  their 
feet  and  go  away.  Why  are  you  crying,  girl  ? You 
should  not  cry ; they  don’t  like  it.  Put  on  your  prettiest 
gown  and  laugh  and  pretend  you  are  happy,  and  then 


228 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


they  will  tell  you  naughty  stories  and  give  you  these.” 
She  felt  her  ears  and  looked  at  her  fingers,  on  which 
there  may  once  have  been  jewels,  but  there  were  none 
now. 

“ If  you  cry  you  lose  your  complexion,  and  then  they 
don’t  love  you  any  more.  I had  always  such  a beauti- 
ful skin.  Some  ladies  when  they  lose  their  complexion 
paint.  Horrid,  is  n’t  it  ? I wonder  they  can  do  such  a 
thing.” 

She  eyed  Elspeth  suspiciously.  “ But  of  course  you 
might  do  it  just  a little,”  she  said,  pleadingly  — “just 
to  make  them  go  on  loving  you,  don’t  you  think  ? 

“ When  they  don’t  want  to  come  any  more  they  write 
you  a letter,  and  you  run  with  it  to  your  room  and  kiss 
it,  because  you  don’t  know  what  is  inside.  Then  you 
open  it,  and  that  breaks  your  heart,  you  know.”  She 
nodded  her  head  sagaciously  and  smiled  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  “Never,  never,  never  open  the  letter.  Keep 
it  unopened  on  your  breast,  and  then  you  can  always 
think  that  he  may  come  to-morrow.  And  if ” 

Someone  was  approaching,  and  she  stopped  and 
listened.  “My  brat!”  she  cried,  furiously,  “she  is 
always  following  me,”  and  she  poured  forth  a torrent  of 
filthy  abuse  of  Grizel,  in  the  midst  of  which  Tommy 
(for  it  was  he)  appeared  and  carried  Elspeth  off  hastily. 
This  was  the  only  conversation  either  child  ever  had 
with  the  Painted  Lady,  and  it  bore  bad  fruit  for  Grizel. 
Elspeth  told  some  of  the  Monypenny  women  about  it, 


CORP  IS  BROUGHT  TO  WKFJm 


229 


and  they  thought  it  their  duty  to  point  out  to  Aaron 
that  the  Painted  Lady  and  her  child  were  not  desirable 
aquaintances  for  Tommy  and  Elspeth. 

“I  dinna  ken,”  he  answered  sharply,  " whether 
Tommy  *s  a fit  acquaintance  for  Grizel,  but  I ’m  very 
sure  o’  this,  that  she  *s  more  than  a fit  acquaintance  for 
him.  And  look  at  what  she  has  done  for  this  house. 
I kenna  what  we  should  do  if  she  didna  come  in  nows 
and  nans.” 

"You  ken  well,  Aaron,”  they  said,  "that  ony thing 
we  could  do  in  the  way  o’  keeping  your  house  in  order 
we  should  do  gladly.” 

"Thank  you,”  he  replied  ungraciously,  "but  I would 
rather  have  her.” 

Nevertheless  he  agreed  that  he  ought  to  forbid  any 
intercourse  with  the  Painted  Lady,  and  unfortunately 
Grizel  heard  of  this.  Probably  there  never  would  have 
been  any  such  intercourse;  Grizel  guarded  against  it 
more  than  anyone,  for  reasons  she  never  spoke  of,  but 
she  resented  this  veto  proudly. 

" Why  must  you  not  speak  to  my  mamma  ? ” she 
demanded  of  Tommy  and  Elspeth. 

"Because  — because  she  is  a queer  one,”  he  said. 

"She  is  not  a queer  one  — she  is  just  sweet.” 

He  tried  to  evade  the  question  by  saying  weakly, 
"We  never  see  her  to  speak  to  at  any  rate,  so  it  will 
make  no  difference.  It *s  no  as  if  you  ever  asked  us  to 
come  to  Double  Dykes.” 


230 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“But  I ask  you  now,”  said  Grizel,  with  flashing  eyes, 

“Oh,  I darena!  ” cried  Elspeth. 

“Then  I won’t  ever  come  into  your  house  again,” 
said  Grizel,  decisively. 

“No  to  redd  up  ? ” asked  Tommy,  increduously.  “No 
to  bake  nor  to  iron  ? You  couldna  help  it.” 

“Yes  I could.” 

“ Think  what  you  ’ll  miss!  ” 

Grizel  might  have  retorted,  “Think  what  you  will 
miss!”  but  perhaps  the  reply  she  did  make  had  a 
sharper  sting  in  it.  “I  shall  never  come  again,”  she 
said  loftily,  “ and  my  reason  for  not  coming  is  that  — 
that  my  mamma  thinks  your  house  is  not  respectable ! ” 
She  flung  this  over  her  shoulder  as  she  stalked  away, 
and  it  may  be  that  the  tears  came  when  there  were  none 
to  see  them,  but  hers  was  a resolute  mind,  and  though 
she  continued  to  be  friendly  with  Tommy  and  Elspeth 
out  of  doors  she  never  again  crossed  their  threshold. 

“The  house  is  in  a terrible  state  for  want  o’  you,” 
Tommy  would  say,  trying  to  wheedle  her.  “We  hinna 
sanded  the  floor  for  months,  and  the  box-iron  has  fallen 
ahint  the  dresser,  and  my  gray  sark  is  rove  up  the 
back,  and  oh,  you  should  just  see  the  holes  in  Aaron’s 
stockings!  ” 

Then  Grizel  rocked  her  arms  in  agony,  but  no,  she 
would  not  go  in. 


CHAPTER  XX 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 

Tommy  was  in  Miss  Ailie’s  senior  class  now,  though 
by  no  means  at  the  top  of  it,  and  her  mind  was  often 
disturbed  about  his  future.  On  this  subject  Aaron  had 
never  spoken  to  anyone,  and  the  problem  gave  Tommy 
himself  so  little  trouble  that  all  Elspeth  knew  was  that 
he  was  to  be  great  and  that  she  was  to  keep  his  house. 
So  the  school-mistress  braved  an  interview  with  Aaron 
for  the  sake  of  her  favorite. 

“You  know  he  is  a remarkable  boy,”  she  said. 

“At  his  lessons,  ma’am  ?”  asked  Aaron,  quietly. 

Not  exactly  at  his  lessons,  she  had  to  admit. 

“In  what  way,  then,  ma’am?” 

Really  Miss  Ailie  could  not  say.  There  was  some- 
thing wonderful  about  Tommy,  you  felt  it,  but  you 
could  not  quite  give  it  a name.  The  warper  must  have 
noticed  it.  himself. 

“I’ve  heard  him  saying  something  o’  the  kind  to 
Elspeth,”  was  Aaron’s  reply. 

“But  sometimes  he  is  like  a boy  inspired,”  said  the 
school-mistress.  “You  must  have  seen  that?” 

“When  he  was  thinking  o’  himsel’,”  answered  Aaron, 


232 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“He  has  such  noble  sentiments.” 

“He  has.” 

“And  I think,  I really  think,”  said  Miss  Ailie, 
eagerly,  for  this  was  what  she  had  come  to  say,  “that 
he  has  got  great  gifts  for  the  ministry.” 

“I ’m  near  sure  o’t,”  said  Aaron,  grimly. 

“Ah,  I see  you  don’t  like  him.” 

“I  dinna,”  the  warper  acknowledged  quietly,  “but 
I ’ve  been  trying  to  do  my  duty  by  him  for  all  that. 
It ’s  no  every  laddie  that  gets  three  years’  schooling 
straight  on  end.” 

This  was  true,  but  Miss  Ailie  used  it  to  press  her 
point.  “You  have  done  so  well  by  him,”  she  said, 
“that  I think  you  should  keep  him  at  school  for  an- 
other year  or  two,  and  so  give  him  a chance  of  carrying 
a bursary.  If  he  carries  one  it  will  support  him  at 
college;  if  he  does  not  — well,  then  I suppose  he  must 
be  apprenticed  to  some  trade.” 

“No,”  Aaron  said,  decisively;  “if  he  gets  the  chance 
of  a college  education  and  flings  it  awa’,  I ’ll  waste  no 
more  siller  on  his  keep.  I ’ll  send  him  straight  to  the 
herding.” 

“And  I shall  not  blame  you,”  Miss  Ailie  declared 
eagerly. 

“Though  I would  a hantle  rather,”  continued  the 
warper,  “waur  my  money  on  Elspeth.” 

“What  you  spend  on  him,”  Miss  Ailie  argued,  “you 
will  really  be  spending  on  her,  for  if  he  rises  in  the 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 


238 


world  lie  will  not  leave  Elspeth  behind.  You  are  preju- 
diced against  him,  but  you  cannot  deny  that.” 

“I  dinna  deny  but  what  he ’s  fond  o’  her,”  said 
Aaron,  and  after  considering  the  matter  for  some  days 
he  decided  that  Tommy  should  get  his  chance.  The 
school-mistress  had  not  acted  selfishly,  for  this  decision, 
as  she  knew,  meant  that  the  boy  must  now  be  placed  in 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Cathro,  who  was  a Greek  and  Latin 
scholar.  She  taught  Latin  herself,  it  is  true,  but  as 
cautiously  as  she  crossed  a plank  bridge,  and  she  was 
never  comfortable  in  the  dominie’s  company,  because 
even  at  a tea-table  he  would  refer  familiarly  to  the 
ablative  absolute  instead  of  letting  sleeping  dogs  lie. 

“ But  Elspeth  couldna  be  happy  if  we  were  at  different 
schools,”  Tommy  objected  instantly. 

“ Yes,  I could,”  said  Elspeth,  who  had  been  won  over 
by  Miss  Ailie ; “ it  will  be  so  fine,  Tommy,  to  see  you 
again  after  I hinna  seen  you  for  three  hours.” 

Tommy  was  little  known  to  Mr.  Cathro  at  this  time, 
except  as  the  boy  who  had  got  the  better  of  a rival 
teacher  in  the  affair  of  Corp,  which  had  delighted  him 
greatly.  “ But  if  the  sacket  thinks  he  can  play  any  of 
his  tricks  on  me,”  he  told  Aaron,  “ there  is  an  awaken- 
ing before  him,”  and  he  began  the  cramming  of  Tommy 
for  a bursary  with  perfect  confidence. 

But  before  the  end  of  the  month,  at  the  mere  mention 
of  Tommy’s  name,  Mr.  Cathro  turned  red  in  the  face, 
and  the  fingers  of  his  laying-on  hand  would  clutch  an 


234 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


imaginary  pair  of  tawse.  Already  Tommy  had  made 
him  self-conscious.  He  peered  covertly  at  Tommy,  and 
Tommy  caught  him  at  it  every  time,  and  then  each 
quickly  looked  another  way,  and  Cathro  vowed  never  to 
look  again,  but  did  it  next  minute,  and  what  enraged 
him  most  was  that  he  knew  Tommy  noted  his  attempts 
at  self-restraint  as  well  as  his  covert  glances.  All 
the  other  pupils  knew  that  a change  for  the  worse 
had  come  over  the  dominie’s  temper.  They  saw  him 
punish  Tommy  frequently  without  perceptible  cause, 
and  that  he  was  still  unsatisfied  when  the  punishment 
was  over.  This  apparently  was  because  Tommy  gave 
him  a look  before  returning  to  his  seat.  When  they 
had  been  walloped  they  gave  Cathro  a look  also,  but  it 
merely  meant,  “Oh,  that  this  was  a dark  road  and  I 
had  a divot  in  my  hand!”  while  his  look  was  unread- 
able, that  is  unreadable  to  them,  for  the  dominie  un- 
derstood it  and  writhed.  What  it  said  was,  “ You  think 
me  a wonder,  and  therefore  I forgive  you.” 

“ And  sometimes  he  fair  beats  Cathro ! ” So  Tommy’s 
schoolmates  reported  at  home,  and  the  dominie  had  to 
acknowledge  its  truth  to  Aaron.  “I  wish  you  would 
give  that  sacket  a thrashing  for  me,”  he  said,  half  furi- 
ously, yet  with  a grin  on  his  face,  one  day  when  he  and 
the  warper  chanced  to  meet  on  the  Monypenny  road. 

“I  ’ll  no  lay  a hand  on  bairn  o’  Jean  Myles,”  Aaron 
replied.  “Ay,  and  I understood  you  to  say  that  he 
should  meet  his  match  in  you.” 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 


235 


“Did  I ever  say  that,  man  ? Well,  well,  we  live  and 
learn.” 

“What  has  he  been  doing  now  ? ” 

“What  has  he  been  doing!”  echoed  Cathro.  “He 
has  been  making  me  look  foolish  in  my  own  class-room. 
Yes,  sir,  he  has  so  completely  got  the  better  of  me 
(and  not  for  the  first  time)  that  when  I tell  the  story 
of  how  he  diddled  Mr.  Ogilvy,  Mr.  Ogilvy  will  be  able 
to  cap  it  with  the  story  of  how  the  little  whelp  diddled 
me.  Upon  my  soul,  Aaron,  he  is  running  away  with 
all  my  self-respect  and  destroying  my  sense  of  humor.” 
What  had  so  crushed  the  dominie  was  the  affair  of 
Francie  Crabb.  Francie  was  now  a pupil,  like  Gavin 
Dishart  and  Tommy,  of  Mr.  Cathro’s,  who  detested  the 
boy’s  golden  curls,  perhaps  because  he  was  bald  him- 
self. They  were  also  an  incentive  to  evil-doing  on  the 
part  of  other  boys,  who  must  give  them  a tug  in  pass- 
ing, and  on  a day  the  dominie  said,  in  a fury,  “Give 
your  mother  my  compliments,  Francie,  and  tell  her 
I’m  so  tired  of  seeing  your  curls  that  I mean  to  cut 
them  off  to-morrow  morning.” 

“Say  he  shall  not,”  whispered  Tommy. 

“You  shanna!”  blurted  out  Francie. 

“But  I will,”  said  Cathro;  “I  would  do  it  now  if  I 
had  the  shears.” 

It  was  only  an  empty  threat,  but  an  hour  afterwards 
the  dominie  caught  Tommy  wagering  in  witchy  marbles 
and  other  coin  that  he  would  not  do  it,  and  then  instead 


236 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


of  taking  the  tawse  to  him  he  said,  “ Keep  him  to  his  bar- 
gains, laddies,  for  whatever  may  have  been  my  intention 
at  the  time,  I mean  to  be  as  good  as  my  word  now.” 

He  looked  triumphantly  at  Tommy,  who,  however, 
instead  of  seeming  crestfallen,  continued  to  bet,  and 
now  the  other  boys  were  eager  to  close  with  him,  for 
great  was  their  faith  in  Cathro.  These  transactions 
were  carried  out  on  the  sly,  but  the  dominie  knew  what 
was  going  on,  and  despite  his  faith  in  himself  he  had 
his  twitches  of  uneasiness. 

“ However,  the  boy  can  only  be  trusting  to  fear  of  Mrs. 
Crabb  restraining  me,”  he  decided,  and  he  marched  into 
the  school-room  next  morning,  ostentatiously  displaying 
his  wife’s  largest  scissors.  His  pupils  crowded  in  after 
him,  and  though  he  noticed  that  all  were  strangely 
quiet  and  many  wearing  scared  faces,  he  put  it  down 
to  the  coming  scene.  He  could  not  resist  giving  one 
triumphant  glance  at  Tommy,  who,  however,  instead  of 
returning  it,  looked  modestly  down.  Then  — “Is 
Francie  Crabb  here?”  asked  Mr.  Cathro,  firmly. 

“He  ’s  hodding  ahint  the  press,”  cried  a dozen  voices. 

“Come  forward,  Francie,”  said  the  dominie,  clicking 
the  shears  to  encourage  him. 

There  was  a long  pause,  and  then  Francie  emerged  in 
fear  from  behind  the  press.  Yes,  it  was  Francie,  but 
his  curls  were  gone ! 

The  shears  fell  to  the  floor.  “ Who  did  this  ? * 
roared  the  terrible  Cathro. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 


237 


“It  was  Tommy  Sandy s,”  blurted  out  Francie,  in 
tears. 

The  school-master  was  unable  to  speak,  and,  alarmed 
at  the  stillness,  Francie  whined,  “He  said  it  would 
be  done  at  ony  rate,  and  he  promised  me  half  his 
winnings.” 

It  is  still  remembered  by  bearded  men  and  married 
women  who  were  at  school  that  day  how  Cathro  leaped 
three  forms  to  get  at  Tommy,  and  how  Tommy  cried 
under  the  tawse  and  yet  laughed  ecstatically  at  the 
same  time,  and  how  subsequently  he  and  Francie  col- 
lected so  many  dues  that  the  pockets  of  them  stood  out 
like  brackets  from  their  little  persons. 

The  dominie  could  not  help  grinning  a little  at  his 
own  discomfiture  as  he  told  this  story,  but  Aaron  saw 
nothing  amusing  in  it.  “As  I telledyou,”  he  repeated, 
“I  winna  touch  him,  so  if  you’re  no  content  wi’  what 
you’ve  done  yoursel’,  you  had  better  put  Francie’s 
mither  on  him.” 

“I  hear  she  has  taken  him  in  hand  already,”  Mr. 
Cathro  replied  dryly.  “ But,  Aaron,  I wish  you  would 
at  least  keep  him  closer  to  his  lessons  at  night,  for  it  is 
seldom  he  comes  to  the  school  well  prepared.” 

“I  see  him  sitting  lang  ower  his  books,”  said  Aaron. 

“ Ay,  maybe,  but  is  he  at  them  ? ” responded  the 
dominie  with  a shake  of  the  head  that  made  Aaron  say, 
with  his  first  show  of  interest  in  the  conversation,  “You 
have  little  faith  in  his  carrying  a bursary,  I see.” 


238 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


But  this  Mr.  Cathro  would  not  admit,  for  if  he 
thought  Tommy  a numskull  the  one  day  he  often  saw 
cause  to  change  his  mind  the  next,  so  he  answered 
guardedly,  “ It  ’s  too  soon  to  say,  Aaron,  for  he  has 
eighteen  months’  stuffing  to  undergo  yet  before  we  send 
him  to  Aberdeen  to  try  his  fortune,  and  I have  filled 
some  gey  toom  wimes  in  eighteen  months.  But  you 
must  lend  me  a hand.” 

The  weaver  considered,  and  then  replied  stubbornly, 
“No,  I give  him  his  chance,  but  I ’ll  have  nocht  to  do 
wi’  his  use  o’t.  And,  dominie,  I want  you  to  say  not 
another  word  to  me  about  him  atween  this  and  exami- 
nation time,  for  my  mind ’s  made  up  no  to  say  a word 
to  him.  It ’s  well  kent  that  I ’m  no  more  fit  to  bring 
up  bairns  than  to  have  them  (dinna  conter  me,  man,  for 
the  thing  was  proved  lang  syne  at  the  Cuttle  Well), 
and  so  till  that  time  I ’ll  let  him  gang  his  ain  gait. 
But  if  he  doesna  carry  a bursary,  to  the  herding  he 
goes.  I ’ve  said  it  and  I ’ll  stick  to  it.” 

So,  as  far  as  Aaron  was  concerned,  Tommy  was  left 
in  peace  to  the  glory  of  collecting  his  winnings  from 
those  who  had  sworn  by  Cathro,  and  among  them  was 
Master  Gavin  Ogilvy  Dishart,  who  now  found  himself 
surrounded  by  a debt  of  sixpence,  a degrading  position 
for  the  son  of  an  Auld  Licht  minister. 

Tommy  would  not  give  him  time,  but  was  willing  to 
take  his  copy  of  “Waverley”  as  full  payment. 

Gavin  offered  him  “Ivanhoe”  instead,  because  his 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 


239 


mother  had  given  a read  of  “Waverley”  to  Gavinia, 
Miss  Ailie’s  servant,  and  she  read  so  slowly,  putting  her 
finger  beneath  each  word,  that  she  had  not  yet  reached 
the  middle.  Also,  she  was  so  enamoured  of  the  work  that 
she  would  fight  anyone  who  tried  to  take  it  from  her. 

Tommy  refused  “Ivanhoe,”  as  it  was  not  about 
Jacobites,  but  suggested  that  Gavinia  should  be  offered 
it  in  lieu  of  “ Waverley,”  and  told  that  it  was  a better 
story. 

The  suggestion  came  too  late,  as  Gavinia  had  already 
had  a loan  of  “Ivanhoe,”  and  read  it  with  rapture,  inch 
by  inch.  However,  if  Tommy  would  wait  a month, 
or 

Tommy  was  so  eager  to  read  more  about  the  Jacobites 
that  he  found  it  trying  to  wait  five  minutes.  He 
thought  Gavin’s  duty  was  to  get  his  father  to  compel 
Gavinia  to  give  the  book  up. 

Was  Tommy  daft  ? Mr.  Dishart  did  not  know  that 
his  son  possessed  these  books.  He  did  not  approve  of 
story  books,  and  when  Mrs.  Dishart  gave  them  to 
Gavin  on  his  birthday  she  — she  had  told  him  to  keep 
them  out  of  his  father’s  sight.  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dishart 
were  very  fond  of  each  other,  but  there  were  certain 
little  matters  that  she  thought  it  unnecessary  to  trouble 
him  about.) 

So  if  Tommy  was  to  get  “Waverley”  at  once,  he 
must  discover  another  way.  He  reflected,  and  then  set 
off  to  Miss  Ailie’s  (to  whom  he  still  read  sober  works 


240 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


of  an  evening,  but  novels  never),  looking  as  if  be  had 
found  a way. 

For  some  time  Miss  Ailie  had  been  anxious  about  her 
red-armed  maid,  who  had  never  before  given  pain  unless 
by  excess  of  willingness,  as  when  she  offered  her  garter 
to  tie  Miss  Ailie’s  parcels  with.  Of  late,  however, 
Gavinia  had  taken  to  blurting  out  disquieting  ques- 
tions, to  the  significance  of  which  she  withheld  the 
key,  such  as  — 

“ Is  there  ony  place  nowadays,  ma’am,  where  there ’s 
tourniements  ? And  could  an  able-bodied  lassie  walk 
to  them?  and  what  might  be  the  charge  to  win  in  ?” 

Or,  “ Would  you  no  like  to  be  so  michty  beautiful, 
ma’am,  that  as  soon  as  the  men  saw  your  bonny  face 
they  just  up  wi’  you  in  their  arms  and  ran?” 

Or  again,  “ What ’s  the  heaviest  weight  o’  a woman  a 
grand  lusty  man  could  carry  in  his  arms  as  if  she  were 
an  infant  ? ” 

This  method  of  conveyance  seemed  to  have  a peculiar 
fascination  for  Gavinia,  and  she  got  herself  weighed  at 
the  flesher’s.  On  another  occasion  she  broke  a glass 
candlestick,  and  all  she  said  to  the  pieces  was,  “ Wha 
carries  me,  wears  me.” 

This  mystery  was  troubling  the  school-mistress  sadly 
when  Tommy  arrived  with  the  key  to  it.  “ I ’m  doubt- 
ing Gavinia’s  reading  ill  books  on  the  sly,”  he  said. 

“ Never!”  exclaimed  Miss  Ailie,  “she  reads  nothing 
but  the  Mentor.” 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 


241 


Tommy  shook  his  head,  like  one  who  would  fain 
hope  so,  but  could  not  overlook  facts.  “ I *ve  been 
hearing,”  he  said,  “that  she  reads  books  as  are  full  o' 
Strokes  and  Words  We  have  no  Concern  with.” 

Miss  Ailie  could  not  believe  it,  but  she  was  advised 
to  search  the  kitchen,  and  under  Gavinia’s  mattress 
was  found  the  dreadful  work. 

“And  you  are  only  fifteen!”  said  Miss  Ailie,  eying 
her  little  maid  sorrowfully. 

“The  easier  to  carry,”  replied  Gavinia,  darkly. 

“And  you  named  after  a minister!”  Miss  Ailie  con- 
tinued, for  her  maid  had  been  christened  Gavinia 
because  she  was  the  first  child  baptized  in  his  church 
after  the  Eev.  Gavin  Dishart  came  to  Thrums. 
“Gavinia,  I must  tell  him  of  this.  I shall  take  this 
book  to  Mr.  Dishart  this  very  day.” 

“The  right  man  to  take  it  to,”  replied  the  maid, 
sullenly,  “for  it's  his  ain.” 

“ Gavinia!  ” 

“Well,  it  was  Mrs.  Dishart  that  lended  it  to  me.” 

“I  — I never  saw  it  on  the  manse  shelves.” 

“I’m  thinking,”  said  the  brazen  Gavinia,  “as  there  9 s 
hoddy  corners  in  manses  as  well  as  in  — blue-and-white 
rooms.” 

This  dark  suggestion  was  as  great  a shock  to  the 
gentle  school-mistress  as  if  out  of  a clear  sky  had  come 
suddenly  the  word  — 

Stroke  ! 

1* 


242 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


She  tottered  with  the  book  that  had  so  demoralized 
the  once  meek  Gavinia  into  the  blue-and-white  room, 
where  Tommy  was  restlessly  awaiting  her,  and  when 
she  had  told  him  all,  he  said,  with  downcast  eyes: 

“I  was  never  sure  o’  Mrs.  Dishart.  When  I hand 
her  the  Mentor  she  looks  as  if  she  didna  care  a stroke 
for  ’t ” 

44  Tommy!” 

“I’m  doubting,”  he  said  sadly,  44that  she’s  ower 
fond  o’  Words  We  have  no  Concern  with.” 

Miss  Ailie  would  not  listen  to  such  talk,  but  she 
approved  of  the  suggestion  that  “Waverley”  should  be 
returned  not  to  the  minister,  but  to  his  wife,  and  she 
accepted  gratefully  Tommy’s  kindly  offer  to  act  as 
bearer.  Only  happening  to  open  the  book  in  the 
middle,  she 

“ I ’m  waiting,”  said  Tommy,  after  ten  minutes. 

She  did  not  hear  him. 

“I’m  waiting,”  he  said  again,  but  she  was  now  in 
the  next  chapter. 

“Maybe  you  would  like  to  read  it  yoursel’l”  he 
cried,  and  then  she  came  to,  and,  with  a shudder 
handed  him  the  book.  But  after  he  had  gone  she 
returned  to  the  kitchen  to  reprove  Gavinia  at  greater 
length,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  reproof  she  said 
faintly:  “You  did  not  happen  to  look  at  the  end,  did 
you  ? ” 

“ That  I did,  replied  Gavinia. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  SIR  WALTER 


243 


"And  did  she  — did  he ” 

"No,”  said  Gavinia,  sorrowfully. 

Miss  Ailie  sighed.  "That *s  what  I think  too,”  said 
Gavinia. 

" Why  did  n’t  they  ? ” asked  the  school-mistress. 

"Because  he  was  just  a sumph,”  answered  Gavinia, 
scornfully.  "If  he  had  been  like  Fergus,  or  like  the 
chield  in  * Ivanhoe,’  he  wouldna  have  ta’en  a ‘no.*  He 
would  just  have  whipped  her  up  in  his  arms  and  away 
wi’  her.  That ’s  the  kind  for  me,  ma’am.” 

"There  is  a fascination  about  them,”  murmured  Miss 
Ailie. 

" A what  ? ” 

But  again  Miss  Ailie  came  to.  " For  shame,  Gavinia, 
for  shame!”  she  said,  severely;  "these  are  disgraceful 
sentiments.” 

In  the  meantime  Tommy  had  hurried  with  the  book, 
not  to  the  manse,  but  to  a certain  garret,  and  as  he 
read,  his  imagination  went  on  fire.  Blinder’s  stories 
had  made  him  half  a Jacobite,  and  now  "Waverley” 
revealed  to  him  that  he  was  born  neither  for  the 
ministry  nor  the  herding , but  to  restore  to  his  country 
its  rightful  king.  The  first  to  whom  he  confided  this 
was  Corp,  who  immediately  exclaimed:  "Michty  me! 
But  what  will  the  police  say  ? ” 

" I ken  a wy,”  answered  Tommy,  sternly. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 

On  the  evening  of  the  Queen’s  birthday,  bridies  were 
eaten  to  her  honor  in  a hundred  Thrums  homes,  and 
her  health  was  drunk  in  toddy,  Scotch  toddy  and 
Highland  toddy,  Patullo,  the  writer,  gave  a men’s 
party,  and  his  sole  instructions  to  his  maid  were  “ Keep 
running  back  and  forrit  wi’  the  hot  water.”  At  the 
bank  there  was  a ladies’  party  and  ginger  wine.  From 
Cathro’s  bedroom -window  a flag  was  displayed  with 
Vivat  Regina  on  it,  the  sentiment  composed  by  Cathro, 
the  words  sewn  by  the  girls  of  his  McCulloch  class. 
The  eight-o’clock  bell  rang  for  an  hour,  and  a loyal 
crowd  had  gathered  in  the  square  to  shout.  To  a 
superficial  observer,  such  as  the  Baron  Bailie  or  Todd, 
the  new  policeman,  all  seemed  well  and  fair. 

But  a very  different  scene  was  being  enacted  at  the 
same  time  in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Den,  where  three 
resolute  schemers  had  met  by  appointment.  Their 
trysting-place  was  the  Cuttle  Well,  which  is  most 
easily  reached  by  the  pink  path  made  for  that  purpose ; 
but  the  better  to  further  their  dark  and  sinister  design, 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 


246 


the  plotters  arrived  by  three  circuitous  routes,  one 
descending  the  Reekie  Broth  Pot,  a low  but  dangerous 
waterfall,  the  second  daring  the  perils  of  the  crags, 
and  the  third  walking  stealthily  up  the  burn. 

“Is  that  you,  Tommy  ?” 

“ Whist!  Do  you  mind  the  pass-word  ? ” 

“ Stroke !” 

* Right.  Have  you  heard  Gav  Dishart  coming  ?” 

“ I hinna.  I doubt  his  father  had  grippit  him  as  he 
was  slinking  out  o'  the  manse.” 

“I  fear  it,  Corp.  I'm  thinking  his  father  is  in  the 
Woman's  pay.” 

“ What  woman  ? ” 

“The  Woman  of  Hanover  ?” 

“That's  the  queen,  is  it  no  ?" 

“She  'll  never  get  me  to  call  her  queen.” 

“Nor  yet  me.  I think  I hear  Gav  coming.” 

Gav  Dishart  was  the  one  who  had  come  by  the  burn, 
and  his  boots  were  cheeping  like  a field  of  mice.  He 
gave  the  word  “Stroke,”  and  the  three  then  looked  at 
each  other  firmly.  The  lights  of  the  town  were  not 
visible  from  the  Cuttle  Well,  owing  to  an  arm  of  cliff 
that  is  outstretched  between,  but  the  bell  could  be  dis- 
tinctly heard,  and  occasionally  a shout  of  revelry. 

“ They  little  ken ! ” said  Tommy,  darkly. 

“They  hinna  a notion,”  said  Corp,  but  he  was  look- 
ing somewhat  perplexed  himself. 

“It's  near  time  I was  back  for  family  exercise,” 


246 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


said  Gav,  uneasily,  14  so  we  had  better  do  it  quick, 
Tommy.” 

“ Did  you  bring  the  wineglasses  ? ” Tommy  asked 

him. 

44 No,”  Gav  said,  “the  press  was  lockit,  but  I'v§ 
brought  egg-cups.” 

“Stand  round  then.” 

The  three  boys  now  presented  a picturesque  appear- 
ance, but  there  was  none  save  the  man  in  the  moon  ti 
see  them.  They  stood  round  the  Cuttle  Well,  each 
holding  an  egg-cup,  and  though  the  daring  nature  of 
their  undertaking  and  the  romantic  surroundings  com- 
bined to  excite  them,  it  was  not  fear  but  soaring  pur- 
pose that  paled  their  faces  and  caused  their  hands  to 
tremble,  when  Tommy  said  solemnly,  “Afore  we  do 
what  we  *ve  come  here  to  do,  let ’s  swear.” 
u Stroke ! ” he  said. 
u Stroke ! ” said  Gav. 
u Stroke ! ” said  Corp. 

They  then  filled  their  cups  and  holding  them  over  the 
well,  so  that  they  clinked,  they  said : 

“To  the  king  ower  the  water!  ” 

“To  the  king  ower  the  water!  ” 

“To  the  king  ower  the  water!  ” 

When  they  had  drunk  Tommy  broke  his  cup  against 
a rock,  for  he  was  determined  that  it  should  never  be 
used  to  honor  a meaner  toast,  and  the  others  followed 
his  example,  Corp  briskly,  though  the  act  puzzled  him, 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 


247 


and  Gav  with  a gloomy  look  because  he  knew  that  the 
cups  would  be  missed  to-morrow. 

" Is  that  a*  now  ? ” whispered  Corp,  wiping  his  fore- 
head with  his  sleeve. 

"All!”  cried  Tommy.  "Man,  we  *ve  just  begood.” 
As  secretly  as  they  had  entered  it,  they  left  the  Den, 
and  anon  three  figures  were  standing  in  a dark  trance, 
cynically  watching  the  revellers  in  the  square. 

"If  they  just  kent!”  muttered  the  smallest,  who  was 
wearing  his  jacket  outside  in  to  escape  observation* 

" But  they  little  ken ! ” said  Gav  Dishart. 

"They  hinna  a notion!”  said  Corp,  contemptuously, 
but  still  he  was  a little  puzzled,  and  presently  he  asked 
softly:  "Lads,  what  just  is  it  that  they  dinna  ken  ?” 
Had  Gav  been  ready  with  an  answer  he  could  not 
have  uttered  it,  for  just  then  a terrible  little  man  in 
black,  who  had  been  searching  for  him  in  likely  places, 
seized  him  by  the  cuff  of  the  neck,  and,  turning  his  face 
in  an  easterly  direction,  ran  him  to  family  worship. 
But  there  was  still  work  to  do  for  the  other  two. 
Walking  home  alone  that  night  from  Mr.  Patullo’s 
party,  Mr.  Cathro  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he 
was  being  dogged.  When  he  stopped  to  listen,  all  was 
at  once  still,  but  the  moment  he  moved  onward  he 
again  heard  stealthy  steps  behind.  He  retired  to  rest 
as  soon  as  he  reached  his  house,  to  be  wakened 
presently  by  a slight  noise  at  the  window,  whence  the 
flag-post  protruded.  It  had  been  but  a gust  of  wind, 


248 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


he  decided,  and  turned  round  to  go  to  sleep  again,  when 
crash ! the  post  was  plucked  from  its  place  and  cast  to 
the  ground.  The  dominie  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  while 
feeling  for  a light,  thought  he  heard  scurrying  feet, 
but  when  he  looked  out  at  the  window  no  one  was  to  be 
seen;  Vivat  Regina  lay  ignobly  in  the  gutters.  That 
it  could  have  been  the  object  of  an  intended  theft  was 
not  probable,  but  the  open  window  might  have  tempted 
thieves,  and  there  was  a possible  though  risky  way  up 
by  the  spout.  The  affair  was  a good  deal  talked  about 
at  the  time,  but  it  remained  shrouded  in  a mystery 
which  even  we  have  been  unable  to  penetrate. 

On  the  heels  of  the  Queen’s  birthday  came  the 
Muckley,  the  one  that  was  to  be  known  to  fame,  if 
fame  was  willing  to  listen  to  Corp,  as  Tommy’s 
Muckley.  Unless  he  had  some  grand  aim  in  view 
never  was  a boy  who  yielded  to  temptations  more 
blithely  than  Tommy,  but  when  he  had  such  aim  never 
was  a boy  so  firm  in  withstanding  them.  At  this 
Muckley  he  had  a mighty  reason  for  not  spending 
money,  and  with  ninepence  in  his  pocket  clamoring  to 
be  out  he  spent  not  one  halfpenny.  There  was  some- 
thing uncanny  in  the  sight  of  him  stalking  unscathed 
between  rows  of  stands  and  shows,  everyone  of  them 
aiming  at  his  pockets.  Corp  and  Gav,  of  course,  were 
in  the  secret  and  did  their  humble  best  to  act  in  the 
same  unnatural  manner,  but  now  and  again  a show 
made  a successful  snap  at  Gav,  and  Corp  had  gloomy 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  EISING 


249 


fears  that  he  would  lose  his  head  in  presence  of  the 
Teuch  and  Tasty,  from  which  humiliation  indeed  he 
was  only  saved  by  the  happy  idea  of  requesting  Tommy 
to  shout  “ Deuteronomy ! ” in  a warning  voice,  every 
time  they  drew  nigh  Californy’s  seductive  stand. 

Was  there  nothing  for  sale,  then,  that  the  three 
thirsted  to  buy  ? There  were  many  things,  among  them 
weapons  of  war,  a pack  of  cards,  more  properly  called 
Devil’s  books,  blue  bonnets  suitable  for  Highland 
gentlemen,  feathers  for  the  bonnets,  a tin  lantern, 
yards  of  tartan  cloth,  which  the  deft  fingers  of  Grizel 
would  convert  into  warriors’  sashes.  Corp  knew  that 
these  purchases  were  in  Tommy’s  far-seeing  eye,  but 
he  thought  the  only  way  to  get  them  was  to  ask  the 
price  and  then  offer  half.  Gav,  the  scholar,  who  had 
already  reached  daylight  through  the  first  three  books 
of  Euclid,  and  took  a walk  every  Saturday  morning 
with  his  father  and  Herodotus,  even  Gav,  the  scholar, 
was  as  thick-witted  as  Corp. 

“ We  ’ll  let  other  laddies  buy  them,”  Tommy  explained 
in  his  superior  way,  “and  then  after  the  Muckley  is 
past,  we  ’ll  buy  them  frae  them.” 

The  others  understood  now.  After  a Muckley  there 
was  always  a great  dearth  of  pence,  and  a moneyed 
man  could  become  owner  of  Muckley  purchases  at  a sixth 
part  of  the  Muckley  price. 

“You  crittur!  ” exclaimed  Corp,  in  abject  admiration. 

But  Gav  saw  an  objection.  “The  feck  of  them,”  he 


250 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


pointed  out,  “will  waur  their  siller  on  shows  and 
things  to  eat,  instead  of  on  what  we  want  them  to 
buy.” 

“ So  they  will,  the  nasty  sackets ! ” cried  Corp. 

“ You  couldna  blame  a laddie  for  buying  Teuch  and 
Tasty,”  continued  Gav  with  triumph,  for  he  was  a 
little  jealous  of  Tommy. 

“You  couldna,”  agreed  Corp,  “no,  I ’ll  be  dagont,  if 
you  could,”  and  his  hand  pressed  his  money  feverishly. 

“Deuteronomy!”  roared  Tommy,  and  Corp’s  hand 
jumped  as  if  it  had  been  caught  in  some  other  person’s 
pocket. 

“But  how  are  we  to  do?”  he  asked.  “If  you  like, 
I ’ll  take  Birkie  and  the  Haggerty-Taggertys  round  the 
Muckley  and  fight  ilka  ane  that  doesna  buy ” 

“Corp,”  said  Tommy,  calmly,  “I  wonder  at  you. 
Do  you  no  ken  yet  that  the  best  plan  is  to  leave  a’ 
thing  to  me  ? ” 

“Blethering  gowks  that  we  are,  of  course  it  is!” 
cried  Corp,  and  he  turned  almost  fiercely  upon  Gav. 
“Lippen  all  to  him,”  he  said  with  grand  confidence, 
“he  ’ll  find  a wy.” 

And  Tommy  found  a way.  Birkie  was  the  boy  who 
bought  the  pack  of  cards.  He  saw  Tommy  looking  so 
woe-begone  that  it  was  necessary  to  ask  the  reason. 

“Oh,  Birkie,  lend  me  threepence,”  sobbed  Tommy, 
“and  I’ll  give  you  sixpence  the  morn.” 

“You  ’re  daft,”  said  Birkie,  “there ’s  no  a laddie  in 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 


251 


Thrums  that  will  have  one  single  lonely  bawbee  the 
morn.” 

“Him  that  buys  the  cards,”  moaned  Tommy,  “will 
never  be  without  siller,  for  you  tell  auld  folks  fortunes 
on  them  at  a penny  every  throw.  Lend  me  threepence, 
Birkie.  They  cost  a sic,  and  I have  just ” 

“Na,  na,”  said  greedy  Birkie,  “I  ’m  no  to  be  catched 
wi’  chaff.  If  it ’s  true,  what  you  say,  I ’ll  buy  the 
cards  mysel’.” 

Having  thus  got  hold  of  him,  Tommy  led  Birkie  to  a 
stand  where  the  King  of  Egypt  was  telling  fortunes 
with  cards,  and  doing  a roaring  trade  among  the  Jocks 
and  Jennys.  He  also  sold  packs  at  sixpence  each,  and 
the  elated  Birkie  was  an  immediate  purchaser. 

“You’re  no  so  clever  as  you  think  yoursel’!”  he 
said  triumphantly  to  Tommy,  who  replied  with  his 
inscrutable  smile.  But  to  his  satellites  he  said,  “Not 
a soul  will  buy  a fortune  frae  Birkie.  I ’ll  get  thae 
cards  for  a penny  afore  next  week’s  out.” 

Francie  Crabb  found  Tommy  sniggering  to  himself 
in  the  back  wynd.  “ What  are  you  goucking  at  ? ” 
asked  Francie,  in  surprise,  for,  as  a rule,  Tommy  only 
laughed  behind  his  face. 

“I  winna  tell  you,”  chuckled  Tommy,  “but  what  a 
bar,  oh,  what  a divert ! 99 

“Come  on,  tell  me.” 

“Well,  it ’s  at  the  man  as  is  swallowing  swords  ahint 

the  menagerie.” 


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SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at  in  that.” 

“I ’m  no  laughing  at  that.  I ’m  laughing  at  him  foi 
selling  the  swords  for  ninepence  the  piece.  Oh,  what 
ignorant  he  is,  oh,  what  a bar!” 

“ Ninepence  is  a mislaird  price  for  a soord,”  said 
Francie.  “I  never  gave  ninepence.” 

Tommy  looked  at  him  in  the  way  that  always  made 
boys  fidget  with  their  fists. 

“You’re  near  as  big  a bar  as  him,”  he  said  scorn- 
fully. “ Did  you  ever  see  the  sword  that  *s  hanging  on 
the  wall  in  the  backroom  at  the  post-office  ? ” 

“No,  but  my  father  has  telled  me  about  it.  It  has  a 
grand  name.” 

“It *s  an  Andrea  Ferrara,  that ’s  what  it  is.” 

“Ay,  I mind  the  name  nowj  there  has  been  folk 
killed  wi’  that  soord.” 

This  was  true,  for  the  post-office  Andrea  Ferrara  has 
a stirring  history,  but  for  the  present  its  price  was  the 
important  thing.  “ Dr.  McQueen  offered  a pound  note 
for  it,”  said  Tommy. 

“I  ken  that,  but  what  has  it  to  do  wi*  the  soord- 
swallower  ? ” 

“Just  this;  that  the  swords  he  is  selling  for  nine- 
pence  are  Andrea  Ferraras,  the  same  as  the  post-office 
ones,  and  he  could  get  a pound  a piece  for  them  if  he 

kent  their  worth.  Oh,  what  a bar,  oh,  what ” 

Francie’s  eyes  lit  up  greedily,  and  he  looked  at  his 
two  silver  shillings,  and  took  two  steps  in  the  direction 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 


253 


of  the  sword-swallower’s,  and  faltered  and  could  not 
make  up  his  agitated  mind.  Tommy  set  off  toward  the 
square  at  a brisk  walk.  - \ 

“ Whaur  are  you  off  to  ? ” asked  Francie,  following 
him. 

“ To  tell  the  man  what  his  swords  is  worth.  It  would 
be  ill  done  no  to  tell  him.”  To  clinch  the  matter,  off 
went  Tommy  at  a run,  and  off  went  Francie  after 
him.  As  a rule  Tommy  was  the  swifter,  but  on  this 
occasion  he  lagged  of  fell  purpose,  and  reached  the 
sword-swallower’s  tent  just  in  time  to  see  Francie 
emerge  elated  therefrom,  carrying  two  Andrea  Fer- 
raras. Francie  grinned  when  they  met. 

“ What  a bar ! ” he  crowed. 

“What  a bar!”  agreed  Tommy,  and  sufficient  has 
now  been  told  to  show  that  he  had  found  a way.  Even 
Gav  acknowledged  a master,  and,  when  the  accoutre- 
ments of  war  were  bought  at  second  hand  as  cneaply  as 
Tommy  had  predicted,  applauded  him  with  eyes  and 
mouth  for  a full  week,  after  which  he  saw  things  in  a 
new  light.  Gav  of  course  was  to  enter  the  bursary  lists 
anon,  and  he  had  supposed  that  Cathro  would  have  the 
last  year’s  schooling  of  him;  but  no,  his  father  decided 
to  send  him  for  the  grand  final  grind  to  Mr.  Ogilvy  of 
Glen  Quharity,  a famous  dominie  between  whom  and 
Mr.  Dishart  existed  a friendship  that  none  had  ever 
got  at  the  root  of.  Mr.  Cathro  was  more  annoyed  than 
he  cared  to  show,  Gav  being  of  all  the  boys  of  that 


254 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


time  the  one  likeliest  to  do  his  teacher  honor  at  the 
university  competitions,  but  Tommy,  though  the 
decision  cost  him  an  adherent,  was  not  ill-pleased,  for 
he  had  discovered  that  Gav  was  one  of  those  irritating 
boys  who  like  to  be  leader.  Gav,  as  has  been  said, 
suddenly  saw  Tommy’s  victory  over  Messrs.  Birkie, 
Franeie,  etc.,  in  a new  light 5 this  was  because  when  he 
wanted  back  the  shilling  which  he  had  contributed  to  the 
funds  for  buying  their  purchases,  Tommy  replied  firmly : 

“ I canna  give  you  the  shilling,  but  I ’ll  give  you  the 
lantern  and  the  tartan  cloth  we  bought  wi’  it.” 

“ What  use  could  they  be  to  me  at  Glen  Quharity  ? ” 
Gav  protested. 

“Oh,  if  they  are  no  use  to  you,”  Tommy  said 
sweetly,  “me  and  Corp  is  willing  to  buy  them  off  you 
for  threepence.” 

Then  Gav  became  a scorner  of  duplicity,  but  he  had 
to  consent  to  the  bargain,  and  again  Corp  said  to 
Tommy,  “ Oh,  you  crittur ! ” But  he  was  sorry  to  lose 
a fellow-conspirator.  “ There ’s  just  the  twa  o’  us 
now,”  he  sighed. 

“ Just  twa!  ” cried  Tommy.  “ What  are  you  havering 
about,  man?  There ’s  as  many  as  I like  to  whistle  for.” 

' — •‘,r  • a' 

“You  mean  Grizel  and  Elspeth,  I ken,  but ” 

“I  wasna  thinking  of  the  women-folk,”  Tommy  told 
him,  with  a contemptuous  wave  of  the  hand.  He 
went  closer  to  Corp,  and  said,  in  a low  voice,  “The 
McKenzies  are  waiting ! ” 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 


255 


“ Axe  they,  though  ? ” said  Corp,  perplexed,  as  he 
had  no  notion  who  the  McKenzies  might  be. 

“ And  Lochiel  has  twa  hunder  spearsmen.” 

“ Do  you  say  so  ? ” 

“Young  Kinnordy  ’s  ettling  to  come  out,  and  I meet 
Lord  Airlie,  when  the  moon  rises,  at  the  Loups  o’ 
Kenny,  and  auld  Bradwardine  ’s  as  spunky  as  ever, 
and  there  ’s  fifty  wild  Highlandmen  lying  ready  in  the 
muckle  cave  of  Clova.” 

He  spoke  so  earnestly  that  Corp  could  only  ejaculate, 
“ Michty  me ! ” 

“But  of  course  they  winna  rise,”  continued  Tommy, 
darkly,  “till  he  lands.” 

“Of  course  no,”  said  Corp,  “but  — wha  is  he  ?” 
“HimseB,”  whispered  Tommy,  “the  Chevalier!  ” 

Corp  hesitated.  “But,  I thought,”  he  said  diffi- 
dently, “ I thought  you ” 

“So  I am,”  said  Tommy. 

“ But  you  said  he  hadna  landed  yet  ? ” 

“ Neither  he  has.” 

“ But  you ” 

“ Well?” 

“You  *re  here,  are  you  no  ? ” 

Tommy  stamped  his  foot  in  irritation.  “You  *re  slow 
in  the  uptak,”  he  said.  “I  ’ m no  here.  How  can  I be 
here  when  I ’m  at  St.  Germains  ? ” 

“Dinna  be  angry  wi?  me,”  Corp  begged.  “I  ken 
you  ’re  ower  the  water,  but  when  I see  you,  I kind  of 
forget;  and  just  for  the  minute  I think  you  ’re  here.” 


256 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


"Well,  think  afore  you  speak.* 

“I’ll  try,  but  that’s  teuch  work.  When  do  you 
come  to  Scotland  ? ” 

“I’m  no  sure;  but  as  soon  as  I ’m  ripe.” 

At  nights  Tommy  now  sometimes  lay  among  the 
cabbages  of  the  school-house  watching  the  shadow  of 
Black  Cathro  on  his  sitting-room  blind.  Cathro  never 
knew  he  was  there.  The  reason  Tommy  lay  among  the 
cabbages  was  that  there  was  a price  upon  his  head. 

“But  if  Black  Cathro  wanted  to  get  the  blood-money,” 
Corp  said  apologetically,  “ he  could  nab  you  any  day. 
He  kens  you  fine.” 

Tommy  smiled  meaningly.  “Not  him,”  he  answered* 
“ I ?ve  cheated  him  bonny,  he  hasna  a notion  wha  I am, 
Corp,  would  you  like  a good  laugh  ? ” 

“That  I would.” 

“Weel,  then,  I’ll  tell  you  wha  he  thinks  I am. 
Do  you  ken  a little  house  yont  the  road  a birty  trap 
Monypenny  ? ” 

“I  ken  no  sic  house,”  said  Corp,  “except  Aaron’s.” 

“ Aaron  \s  the  man  as  bides  in  it,”  Tommy  continued 
hastily,  “at  least  I think  that’s  the  name.  Well,  as 
you  ken  the  house,  you  ?ve  maybe  noticed  a laddie  that 
bides  there  too  ? ” 

“There ’s  no  laddie,”  began  Corp,  “except ” 

“Let  me  see,”  interrupted  Tommy,  “what  was  his 
name  ? Was  it  Peter  ? No.  Was  it  Willie  ? Stop, 
I mind,  it  was  Tommy.” 


THE  LAST  JACOBITE  RISING 


257 


He  glared  so  that  Corp  dared  not  utter  a word. 
u Have  you  notitched  him  ? ” 

“I ’ye  — I *ve  seen  him,”  Corp  gasped. 

"Well,  this  is  the  joke,”  said  Tommy,  trying  vainly 
to  restrain  his  mirth,  “ Cathro  thinks  I ’m  that  laddie ! 
Ho!  ho!  ho!” 

Corp  scratched  his  head,  then  he  bit  his  warts,  then 
he  spat  upon  his  hands,  then  he  said  “Damn.” 

The  crisis  came  when  Cathro,  still  ignorant  that  the 
heather  was  on  fire,  dropped  some  disparaging  remarks 
about  the  Stuarts  to  his  history  class.  Tommy  said 
nothing,  but  — but  one  of  the  school-windows  was  with- 
out a snib,  and  next  morning  when  the  dominie  reached 
his  desk  he  was  surprised  to  find  on  it  a little  cotton 
glove.  He  raised  it  on  high,  greatly  puzzled,  and  then, 
as  ever  when  he  suspected  knavery,  his  eyes  sought 
Tommy,  who  was  sitting  on  a form,  his  arms  proudly 
folded.  That  the  whelp  had  put  the  glove  there, 
Cathro  no  longer  doubted,  and  he  would  have  liked  to 
know  why,  but  was  reluctant  to  give  him  the  satisfac- 
tion of  asking.  So  the  gauntlet  — for  gauntlet  it  was 
— was  laid  aside,  the  while  Tommy,  his  head  bumming 
like  a beeskep,  muttered  triumphantly  through  his 
teeth,  “But  he  lifted  it,  he  lifted  it!”  and  at  closing 
time  it  was  flung  in  his  face  with  this  fair  tribute: 

“ I ’m  no  a rich  man,  laddie,  but  I would  give  a 
pound  note  to  know  what  you  'll  be  at  ten  years  from 
now.” 


17 


258 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  dire  meaning  of 
these  words,  and  Tommy  hurried,  pale  but  determined, 
to  the  quarry,  where  Corp,  with  a barrow  in  his  hands, 
was  learning  strange  phrases  by  heart,  and  finding  it  a 
help  to  call  his  warts  after  the  new  swears. 

“Corp,”  cried  Tommy,  firmly,  “I’ve  set  sail!” 

On  the  following  Saturday  evening  Charles  Edward 
landed  in  the  Den.  In  his  bonnet  was  the  white 
cockade,  and  round  his  waist  a tartan  sash ; though  he 
had  long  passed  man's  allotted  span  his  face  was  still 
full  of  fire,  his  figure  lithe  and  even  boyish.  For  state 
reasons  he  had  assumed  the  name  of  Captain  Stroke. 
As  he  leapt  ashore  from  the  bark,  the  Dancing  Shovel, 
he  was  received  right  loyally  by  Corp  and  other  faith- 
ful adherents,  of  whom  only  two,  and  these  of  a sex  to 
which  his  House  was  ever  partial,  were  visible,  owing 
to  the  gathering  gloom.  Corp  of  that  Ilk  sank  on  his 
knees  at  the  water’s  edge,  and  kissing  his  royal  master’s 
hand  said,  fervently,  “Welcome,  my  prince,  once  more 
to  bonny  Scotland ! ” Then  he  rose  and  whispered,  but 
with  scarcely  less  emotion,  “ There ’s  an  egg  to  your 
tea.” 


CHAPTER  XXII 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 

The  man  in  the  moon  is  a native  of  Thrums,  who  was 
put  up  there  for  hacking  sticks  on  the  Sabbath,  and  as 
he  sails  over  the  Den  his  interest  in  the  bit  placey  is 
still  sufficient  to  make  him  bend  forward  and  cry  “ Boo ! ” 
at  the  lovers.  When  they  jump  apart  you  can  see  the 
aged  reprobate  grinning.  Once  out  of  sight  of  the  den, 
he  cares  not  a boddle  how  the  moon  travels,  but  the 
masterful  crittur  enrages  him  if  she  is  in  a hurry  heref 
just  as  he  is  cleverly  making  out  whose  children’s  chil- 
dren are  courting  now,  “ Slow,  there ! ” he  cries  to  the 
moon,  but  she  answers  placidly  that  they  have  the  rest 
of  the  world  to  view  to-night.  “ The  rest  of  the  world 
be  danged!  ” roars  the  man,  and  he  cranes  his  neck  for  a 
last  glimpse  of  the  Cuttle  Well,  until  he  nearly  falls  out 
of  the  moon. 

Never  had  the  man  such  a trying  time  as  during  the 
year  now  before  him.  It  was  the  year  when  so  many 
scientific  magnates  sat  up  half  the  night  in  their  shirts, 
spying  at  him  through  telescopes.  But  every  effort  to 
discover  why  he  was  in  such  a fidget  failed,  because  the 
spy-glasses  were  never  levelled  at  the  Thrums  den. 


260 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Through  the  whole  of  the  incidents  now  to  tell,  you  may 
conceive  the  man  (on  whom  sympathy  would  be  wasted) 
dagoning  horribly,  because  he  was  always  carried  past 
the  den  before  he  could  make  head  or  tail  of  the  change 
that  had  come  over  it. 

The  spot  chosen  by  the  ill-fated  Stuart  and  his  gallant 
remnant  for  their  last  desperate  enterprise  was  eminently 
fitted  for  their  purpose.  Being  round  the  corner  from 
Thrums,  it  was  commanded  by  no  fortified  place  save 
the  farm  of  Nether  Drumgley,  and  on  a recent  goustie 
night  nearly  all  the  trees  had  been  blown  down,  making 
a hundred  hiding-places  for  bold  climbers,  and  trans- 
forming the  Den  into  a scene  of  wild  and  mournful  gran- 
deur. In  no  bay  more  suitable  than  the  flooded  field 
called  the  Silent  Pool  could  the  hunted  prince  have  cast 
anchor,  for  the  Pool  is  not  only  sheltered  from  observa- 
tion, but  so  little  troubled  by  gales  that  it  had  only  one 
drawback : at  some  seasons  of  the  year  it  was  not  there. 
This,  however,  did  not  vex  Stroke,  as  it  is  cannier  to  call 
him,  for  he  burned  his  boats  on  the  night  he  landed  (and 
a dagont,  tedious  job  it  was  too),  and  pointed  out  to  his 
followers  that  the  drouth  which  kept  him  in  must  also 
keep  the  enemy  out.  Part  of  the  way  to  the  lair  they 
usually  traversed  in  the  burn,  because  water  leaves  no 
trace,  and  though  they  carried  turnip  lanterns  and  were 
armed  to  the  teeth,  this  was  often  a perilous  journey 
owing  to  the  lovers  close  at  hand  on  the  pink  path,  from 
which  the  trees  had  been  cleared,  for  lads  and  lasses 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 


261 


must  walk  whate’er  betide.  Ronny-On’s  J ean  and  Peter 
Scrymgeour,  little  Lisbeth  Doak  and  long  Sam’l  from 
Pyotdykes  were  pairing  that  year,  and  never  knew  how 
near  they  were  to  being  dirked  by  Corp  of  Corp,  who, 
lurking  in  the  burn  till  there  were  no  tibbits  in  his  toes, 
muttered  fiercely,  “ Cheep  one  single  cheep,  and  it  will 
be  thy  hinmost,  methinks ! ” under  the  impression  that 
Methinks  was  a Jacobite  oath. 

For  this  voluntary  service,  Stroke  clapped  Corp  of 
Corp  on  the  shoulder  with  a naked  sword,  and  said, 
“Rise,  Sir  Joseph !”  which  made  Corp  more  confused 
than  ever,  for  he  was  already  Corp  of  Corp,  Him  of 
Muckle  Kenny,  Red  McKeil,  Andrew  Ferrara,  and  the 
Master  of  Inverquharity  (Stroke’s  names),  as  well  as 
Stab-in-the-Dark,  Grind-them-to-Mullins,  and  Warty  Joe 
(his  own),  and  which  he  was  at  any  particular  moment 
he  never  knew,  till  Stroke  told  him,  and  even  then  he 
forgot  and  had  to  be  put  in  irons. 

The  other  frequenters  of  the  lair  on  Saturday  nights 
(when  alone  the  rebellion  was  active)  were  the  proud 
Lady  Grizel  and  Widow  Elspeth.  It  had  been  thought 
best  to  make  Elspeth  a widow,  because  she  was  so 
religious. 

The  lair  was  on  the  right  bank  of  the  burn,  near  the 
waterfall,  and  you  climbed  to  it  by  ropes,  unless  you 
preferred  an  easier  way.  It  is  now  a dripping  hollow, 
down  which  water  dribbles  from  beneath  a sluice,  but  at 
that  time  it  was  hidden  on  all  sides  by  trees  and  the 


262 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


huge  clods  of  sward  they  had  torn  from  the  earth  as 
they  fell.  Two  of  these  clods  were  the  only  walls  of 
the  lair,  which  had  at  times  a ceiling  not  unlike  Aaron 
Latta’s  bed  coverlets,  and  the  chief  furniture  was  two 
barrels,  marked  “Usquebach”  and  “ Powder.”  When 
the  darkness  of  Stroke’s  fortunes  sat  like  a pall  upon 
his  brow,  as  happened  sometimes,  he  sought  to  drive  it 
away  by  playing  cards  on  one  of  these  barrels  with  Sir 
Joseph,  but  the  approach  of  the  Widow  made  him  pocket 
them  quickly  with  a warning  sign  to  his  trusty  knight, 
who  did  not  understand,  and  asked  what  had  become  of 
them,  whereupon  Elspeth  cried,  in  horror : 

“ Cards ! Oh,  Tommy,  you  promised ” 

But  Stroke  rode  her  down  with,  “ Cards ! Wha  has 
been  playing  cards  ? You,  Muckle  Kenny,  and  you,  Sir 
Joseph,  after  I forbade  it!  Hie,  there,  Inverquharity, 
all  of  you,  seize  those  men.” 

Then  Corp  blinked,  came  to  his  senses  and  marched 
himself  off  to  the  prison  on  the  lonely  promontory  called 
the  Queen’s  Bower,  saying  ferociously,  “ Jouk,  Sir  Jo- 
seph, and  I ’ll  blaw  you  into  posterity.” 

It  is  sable  night  when  Stroke  and  Sir  Joseph  reach  a 
point  in  the  Den  whence  the  glimmering  lights  of  the 
town  are  distinctly  visible.  Neither  speaks.  Presently 
the  distant  eight-o’clock  bell  rings,  and  then  Sir  Joseph 
looks  anxiously  at  his  warts,  for  this  is  the  signal  to 
begin,  and  as  usual  he  has  forgotten  the  words. 

“ Go  on,”  says  someone  in  a whisper.  It  cannot  be 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 


263 


Stroke,  for  his  head  is  brooding  on  his  breast.  This 
mysterious  voice  haunted  all  the  doings  in  the  Den,  and 
had  better  be  confined  in  brackets. 

(“  Go  on .”) 

“Methinks,”  says  Sir  Joseph,  “methinks  the  borers 

V 

(“  Burghers.”) 

“ Methinks  the  burghers  now  cease  from  their  labors.” 
“ Ay,”  replied  Stroke,  “ ’t  is  so,  would  that  they  ceased 
from  them  forever  ! ” 

“ Methinks  the  time  is  at  hand.” 

“Ha!”  exclaims  Stroke,  looking  at  his  lieutenant 
curiously,  “ what  makest  thou  say  so  ? Bor  three  weeks 
these  fortifications  have  defied  my  cannon,  there  is  scarce 
a breach  yet  in  the  walls  of  yonder  town.” 

“ Methinks  thou  wilt  find  a way.” 

“ It  may  be  so,  my  good  Sir  Joseph,  it  may  be  so,  and 
yet,  even  when  I am  most  hopeful  of  success,  my  schemes 
go  a gley.” 

“ Methinks  thy  dark  ” 

(“Dinna  say  Methinks  so  often.”) 

(“  Tommy,  I maun.  If  I dinna  get  that  to  start  me 
off,  I go  through  other.”) 

(“  Go  on.”) 

“ Methinks  thy  dark  spirit  lies  on  thee  to-night.” 

“ Ay,  ’t  is  too  true.  But  canst  thou  blame  me  if  I 
grow  sad  ? The  town  still  in  the  enemy’s  hands,  and  so 
much  brave  blood  already  spilt  in  vain.  Knowest  thou 


264 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


that  the  brave  Kinnordy  fell  last  night?  My  noble 
Kinnordy ! ” 

Here  Stroke  covers  his  face  with  his  hands,  weeping 
silently,  and  — and  there  is  an  awkward  pause. 

(“  Go  on  — ‘ Still  have  me.’  ”) 

(“  So  it  is.”)  u Weep  not,  my  royal  scone 99 

(“  Scion.”) 

“ Weep  not,  my  royal  scion,  havest  thou  not  still  me  ? ” 
“Well  said,  Sir  Joseph,”  cries  Stroke,  dashing  the 
sign  of  weakness  from  his  face.  “ I still  have  many 
brave  fellows,  and  with  their  help  I shall  be  master  of 
this  proud  town.” 

“ And  then  ghost  we  to  fair  Edinburgh  ? ” 

“Ay,  ^t  is  so,  but,  Sir  Joseph,  thinkest  thou  these 
burghers  love  the  Stuart  not?” 

“ Nay,  methinks  they  are  true  to  thee,  but  their  starch 
commander  — (give  me  my  time,  this  is  a lang  ane,)  but 
their  arch  commander  is  thy  bitterest  foe.  Vile  spoon 
that  he  is!  (It’s  no  spoon,  it’s  spawn.)” 

“ Thou  meanest  the  craven  Cathro  ? ” 

“ Methinks  ay.  (I  like  thae  short  anes.)” 

“ ?T  is  well ! ” says  Stroke,  sternly.  “ That  man  hath 
ever  slipped  between  me  and  my  right.  His  time  will 
come.” 

“ He  floppeth  thee  — he  flouteth  thee  from  the  battle- 
ments.” 

“ Ha,  Jt  is  well ! ” 

(“  You  ’ve  said  that  already.”) 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 


265 


(“  I say  it  twice.”) 

(“That’s  what  aye  puts  me  wrang.)  Ghost  thou  to 
meet  the  proud  Lady  Grizel  to-night?” 

“ Ay.” 

“ Ghost  thou  alone  ? ” 

“ Ay.” 

(“  What  easy  anes  you  have !)  I fear  it  is  not  chan- 
cey  for  thee  to  go.” 

“ I must  dree  my  dreed.” 

“ These  women  is  kittle  cattle.” 

“ The  Stuart  hath  ever  a soft  side  for  them.  Ah,  my 
trusty  foster-brother,  knowest  thou  not  what  it  is  to 
love  ? ” 

“ Alas,  I too  have  had  my  fling.  (Does  Grizel  kiss 
pour  hand  yet?)” 

“(No,  she  winna,  the  limmer.)  Sir  Joseph,  I go  to 
her.” 

“ Methinks  she  is  a haughty  onion.  I prithee  go  not 
to-night.” 

“ I have  given  my  word.” 

“ Thy  word  is  a band.” 

“ Adieu,  my  friend.” 

“Methinks  thou  ghost  to  thy  damn.  (Did  we  no 
promise  Elspeth  there  should  be  no  swearing  ?)” 

The  raft  Vick  Ian  Vohr  is  dragged  to  the  shore,  and 
Stroke  steps  on  board,  a proud  solitary  figure.  “ Fare- 
well ! ” he  cries  hoarsely,  as  he  seizes  the  oar. 
“Farewell,  my  leech,”  answers  Corp,  and  then  helps 


266 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


him  to  disembark.  Their  hands  chance  to  meet,  and 
Stroke’s  is  so  hot  that  Corp  quails. 

“ Tommy,”  he  says,  with  a shudder,  “do  you  — you 
dinna  think  it ’s  a’  true,  do  you  ? ” But  the  ill-fated 
prince  only  gives  him  a warning  look  and  plunges  into 
the  mazes  of  the  forest.  Bor  a long  time  silence  reigns 
over  the  Den.  Lights  glint  fitfully,  a human  voice  imi- 
tates the  plaintive  cry  of  the  peewit,  cautious  whistling 
follows,  comes  next  the  clash  of  arms,  and  the  scream  of 
one  in  the  death-throes,  and  again  silence  falls.  Stroke 
emerges  near  the  Beekie  Broth  Pot,  wiping  his  sword 
and  muttering,  “ Faugh  ! it  drippeth ! ” At  the  same 
moment  the  air  is  filled  with  music  of  more  than  mortal 
— well,  the  air  is  filled  with  music.  It  seems  to  come 
from  but  a few  yards  away,  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his 
throbbing  brow  the  Chevalier  presses  forward  till,  push- 
ing aside  the  branches  of  a fallen  fir,  he  comes  suddenly 
upon  a scene  of  such  romantic  beauty  that  he  stands 
rooted  to  the  ground.  Before  him,  softly  lit  by  a half- 
moon (the  man  in  it  perspiring  with  curiosity),  is  a 
miniature  dell,  behind  which  rise  threatening  rocks,  over- 
grown here  and  there  by  grass,  heath,  and  bracken, 
while  in  the  centre  of  the  dell  is  a bubbling  spring  called 
the  Cuttle  Well,  whose  water,  as  it  overflows  a natural 
basin,  soaks  into  the  surrounding  ground  and  so  finds  a 
way  into  the  picturesque  stream  below.  But  it  is  not 
the  loveliness  of  the  spot  which  fascinates  the  prince; 
rather  is  it  the  exquisite  creature  who  sits  by  the  but> 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 


267 


bling  spring,  a reed  from  a hand-loom  in  her  hands,  from 
which  she  strikes  mournful  sounds,  the  while  she  raises 
her  voice  in  song.  A pink  scarf  and  a blue  ribbon  are 
crossed  upon  her  breast,  her  dark  tresses  kiss  her  lovely- 
neck,  and  as  she  sits  on  the  only  dry  stone,  her  face 
raised  as  if  in  wrapt  communion  with  the  heavens,  and 
her  feet  tucked  beneath  her  to  avoid  the  mud,  she  seems 
not  a human  being,  but  the  very  spirit  of  the  place  and 
hour.  The  royal  wanderer  remains  spellbound,  while 
she  strikes  her  lyre  and  sings  (with  but  one  trivial 
alteration)  the  song  of  MacMurrough : — 

Awake  on  your  hills,  on  your  islands  awake, 

Brave  sons  of  the  mountains,  the  frith  and  the  lake ! 

’T  is  the  bugle  — but  not  for  the  chase  is  the  call ; 

'T  is  the  pibroch’s  shrill  summons — but  not  to  the  halL 

’T  is  the  summons  of  heroes  for  conquest  or  death. 

When  the  banners  are  blazing  on  mountain  and  heath ; 

They  call  to  the  dirk,  the  claymore  and  the  targe, 

To  the  march  and  the  muster,  the  line  and  the  charge. 

Be  the  brand  of  each  Chieftain  like  Stroke’s  in  his  ire ! 

May  the  blood  through  his  veins  flow  like  currents  of  fire ! 

Burst  the  base  foreign  yoke  as  your  sires  did  of  yore, 

Or  die  like  your  sires,  and  endure  it  no  more. 

As  the  fair  singer  concluded,  Stroke,  who  had  been 
deeply  moved,  heaved  a great  sigh,  and  immediately,  as 
if  in  echo  of  it,  came  a sigh  from  the  opposite  side  of 
the  dell.  In  a second  of  time  three  people  had  learned 
that  a certain  lady  had  two  lovers.  She  starts  to  her 


268 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


feet,  still  carefully  avoiding  the  puddles,  but  it  is  not 
she  who  speaks. 

(“  Did  you  hear  me  ? ”) 

(“Ay.”) 

(“  You  ’re  ready?  ”) 

(“  Ca’  awa’.”) 

Stroke  dashes  to  the  girl’s  side,  just  in  time  to  pluck 
her  from  the  arms  of  a masked  man.  The  villain  raises 
his  mask  and  reveals  the  face  of  — it  looks  like  Corp, 
but  the  disguise  is  thrown  away  on  Stroke. 

“Ha,  Cathro,”  he  exclaims  joyfully,  “so  at  last  we 
meet  on  equal  terms  ! ” 

“ Back,  Stroke,  and  let  me  pass.” 

“ Nay,  we  fight  for  the  wench.” 

“ So  be  it.  The  prideful  onion  is  his  who  wins  her.” 

“ Have  at  thee,  caitiff  ! ” 

A terrible  conflict  ensues.  Cathro  draws  first  blood. 
’Tis  but  a scratch.  Ha!  well  thrust,  Stroke.  In  vain 
Cathro  girns  his  teeth.  Inch  by  inch  he  is  driven  back, 
he  slips,  he  recovers,  he  pants,  he  is  apparently  about  to 
fling  himself  down  the  steep  bank  and  so  find  safety  in 
flight,  but  he  comes  on  again. 

(“  What  are  you  doing  ? You  run  now.”) 

(“I  ken,  but  I ’m  sweer ! ”) 

(“Off  you  go.”) 

Even  as  Stroke  is  about  to  press  home,  the  cowardly 
foe  flings  himself  down  the  steep  bank  and  rolls  out  of 
sight.  He  will  give  no  more  trouble  to-night ; and  the 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 


269 


victor  turns  to  the  Lady  Grizel,  who  had  been  repinning 
the  silk  scarf  across  her  breast,  while  the  issue  of  the 
combat  was  still  in  doubt. 

(“  Now,  then,  Grizel,  you  kiss  my  hand.”) 

(“  I tell  you  I won't.”) 

(“  Well,  then,  go  on  your  knees  to  me.”) 

(“  You  needn’t  think  it.”) 

(“  Dagon  you ! Then  ca’  awa*  standing.”) 

“My  liege,  thou  hast  saved  me  from  the  wretch 
Cathro.” 

“May  I always  be  near  to  defend  thee  in  time  of 
danger,  my  pretty  chick.” 

(“  Tommy,  you  promised  not  to  call  me  by  those  silly 
names.”) 

(“  They  slip  out,  I tell  you.  That  was  aye  the  way 
wi’  the  Stuarts.”) 

(“Well,  you  must  say  ‘Lady  Grizel.’)  Good,  my 
prince,  how  can  I thank  thee  ? ” 

“ By  being  my  wife.  (Not  a word  of  this  to 
Elspeth.)” 

“Nay,  I summoned  thee  here  to  tell  thee  that  can 
never  be.  The  Grizels  of  Grizel  are  of  ancient  lineage, 
but  they  mate  not  with  monarchs.  My  sire,  the  nun- 
nery gates  will  soon  close  on  me  forever.” 

“Then  at  least  say  thou  lovest  me.” 

“Alas,  I love  thee  not.” 

(“  What  haver  is  this  ? I telled  you  to  say  c Charles, 
would  that  I loved  thee  less.’  ”) 


270 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


(“And  I told  you  I would  not.”) 

(“Well,  then,  where  are  we  now  ? ”) 

(“We  miss  out  all  that  about  my  wearing  your  por* 
trait  next  my  heart,  and  put  in  the  rich  apparel  bit,  the 
same  as  last  week.”) 

(“  Ohl  Then  I go  on  ?)  Bethink  thee,  fair  jade  — ” 
(“Lady.”) 

“Bethink  thee,  fair  lady,  Stuart  is  not  so  poor  but 
that,  if  thou  come  with  him  to  his  lowly  lair,  he  can 
deck  thee  with  rich  apparel  and  ribbons  rare.” 

“I  spurn  thy  gifts,  unhappy  man,  but  if  there  are 
holes  in ” 

(“  Miss  that  common  bit  out.  I canna  thole  it.”) 

(“I  like  it.)  If  there  are  holes  in  the  garments  of 
thy  loyal  followers,  I will  come  and  mend  them,  and  1 
have  a needle  and  thread  in  my  pocket.  (Tommy, 
there  is  another  button  off  your  shirt!  Have  you  got 
the  button  ? ”) 

“(It's  down  my  breeks.)  So  be  it,  proud  girl, 
come ! ” 

It  was  Grizel  who  made  masks  out  of  tin  rags,  picked 
up  where  tinkers  had  passed  the  night,  and  musical 
instruments  out  of  broken  reeds  that  smelled  of  caddis 
and  Jacobite  head-gear  out  of  weaver’s  night-caps;  and 
she  kept  the  lair  so  clean  and  tidy  as  to  raise  a fear 
that  intruders  might  mistake  its  character.  Elspeth 
had  to  mind  the  pot,  which  Aaron  Latta  never  missed, 
and  Corp  was  supposed  to  light  the  fire  by  striking 


THE  SIEGE  OF  THRUMS 


271 


sparks  from  his  knife,  a trick  which  Tommy  considered 
so  easy  that  he  refused  to  show  how  it  was  done. 
Many  strange  sauces  were  boiled  in  that  pot,  a sort  of 
potato-turnip  pudding  often  coming  out  even  when  not 
expected,  but  there  was  an  occasional  rabbit  that  had 
been  bowled  over  by  Corp’s  unerring  hand,  and  once 
Tommy  shot  a — a haunch  of  venison,  having  first,  with 
Corp’s  help,  howked  it  out  of  Ronny-On’s  swine,  then 
suspended  head  downward,  and  open  like  a book  at  the 
page  of  contents,  steaming,  dripping,  a tub  beneath, 
boys  with  bladders  in  the  distance.  When  they  had 
supped  they  gathered  round  the  fire,  Grizel  knitting  a 
shawl  for  they  knew  whom,  but  the  name  was  never 
mentioned,  and  Tommy  told  the  story  of  his  life  at  the 
French  court,  and  how  he  fought  in  the  ’45  and  after* 
ward  hid  in  caves,  and  so  did  he  shudder,  as  he  described 
the  cold  of  his  bracken  beds,  and  so  glowed  his  face, 
for  it  was  all  real  to  him,  that  Grizel  let  the  wool  drop 
on  her  knee,  and  Corp  whispered  to  Elspeth,  “Dinna 
be  fleid  for  him;  I’se  uphaud  he  found  a w y.”  Those 
quiet  evenings  were  not  the  least  pleasant  spent  in  the 
Den. 

But  sometimes  they  were  interrupted  by  a fierce 
endeavor  to  carry  the  lair,  when  boys  from  Cathro’s 
climbed  to  it  up  each  other’s  backs,  the  rope,  of  course, 
having  been  pulled  into  safety  at  the  first  sound,  and 
then  that  end  of  the  Den  rang  with  shouts,  and  deeds  of 
valor  on  both  sides  were  as  common  as  pine  needles, 


272 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


and  once  Tommy  and  Corp  were  only  saved  from 
captors  who  had  them  down,  by  Grizel  rushing  into  the 
midst  of  things  with  two  flaring  torches,  and  another 
time  bold  Birkie,  most  daring  of  the  storming  party, 
was  seized  with  two  others  and  made  to  walk  the  plank. 
The  plank  had  been  part  of  a gate,  and  was  suspended 
over  the  bank  of  the  Silent  Pool,  so  that,  as  you 
approached  the  farther  end,  down  you  went.  It  was 
not  a Jacobite  method,  but  Tommy  feared  that  rows  of 
bodies,  hanging  from  the  trees  still  standing  in  the 
Den,  might  attract  attention. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


GRIZEL  PAYS  THREE  VISITS 

Less  alarming  but  more  irritating  was  tbe  attempt  of 
the  youth  of  Monypenny  and  the  West  town  end,  to 
establish  a rival  firm  of  Jacobites  (without  even  being 
sure  of  the  name).  They  started  business  (Francie 
Crabb  leader,  because  he  had  a kilt)  on  a flagon  of 
porter  and  an  ounce  of  twist,  which  they  carried  on  a 
stick  through  the  Den,  saying  “ Bowf ! ” like  dogs,  when 
they  met  anyone,  and  then  laughing  doubtfully.  The 
twist  and  porter  were  seized  by  Tommy  and  his  fol- 
lowers, and  Haggerty-Taggerty,  Major,  arrived  home 
with  his  head  so  firmly  secured  in  the  flagon  that  the 
solder  had  to  be  melted  before  he  saw  the  world  again. 
Francie  was  in  still  worse  plight,  for  during  the 
remainder  of  the  evening  he  had  to  hide  in  shame 
among  the  brackens,  and  Tommy  wore  a kilt. 

One  cruel  revenge  the  beaten  rivals  had.  They  way- 
laid Grizel,  when  she  was  alone,  and  thus  assailed  her, 
she  answering  not  a word. 

“ What  *s  a father  ? ” 

“ She  ’ll  soon  no  have  a mither  either ! ” 

IS 


274 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“The  Painted  Lady  needs  to  paint  her  cheeks  no 
longer!  ” 

“Na,  the  red  spots  comes  themsels  now.” 

“ Have  you  heard  her  hoasting  ? ” 

“Ay,  it ’s  the  hoast  o’  a dying  woman.” 

“The  joiner  heard  it,  and  gave  her  a look,  measuring 
her  wi’  his  eye  for  the  coffin.  i Five  and  a half  by  one 
and  a half  would  hold  her  snod,’  he  says  to  himsel’.” 

“Ronny-On’s  auld  wife  heard  it,  and  says  she, 
i Dinna  think,  my  leddy,  as  you  ’ll  be  buried  in  con* 
secrated  ground.’” 

“Na,  a’body  kens  she  ’ll  just  be  hauled  at  the  end  o' 
a rope  to  the  hole  where  the  witches  was  shooled  in.” 

“ Wi’  a paling  spar  through  her,  to  keep  her  down  on 
the  day  o’  judgment.” 

Well,  well,  these  children  became  men  and  women 
in  time,  one  of  them  even  a bit  of  a hero,  though  he 
never  knew  it. 

Are  you  angry  with  them  ? If  so,  put  the  cheap 
thing  aside,  or  think  only  of  Grizel,  and  perhaps  God 
will  turn  your  anger  into  love  for  her. 

I 

Great-hearted,  solitary  child ! She  walked  away 
from  them  without  flinching,  but  on  reaching  the  Den, 
where  no  one  could  see  her  — she  lay  down  on  the 
ground,  and  her  cheeks  were  dry,  but  little  wells  of 
water  stood  in  her  eyes. 

She  would  not  be  the  Lady  Grizel  that  night.  She 
went  home  instead,  but  there  was  something  she  wanted 

i 


THEY  WAYLAID  GRIZEL  WHEN  SHE  WAS  ALONE 


/ 


0/ „ 


] 


i 


GRIZEL  PAYS  THREE  VISITS 


275 


to  ask  Tommy  now,  and  the  next  time  she  saw  him 
she  began  at  once.  Grizel  always  began  at  once,  often 
in  the  middle,  she  saw  what  she  was  making  for  so 
clearly. 

“Do  you  know  what  it  means  when  there  are  red 
spots  in  your  cheeks , that  used  not  to  be  there  ? ” 

Tommy  knew  at  once  to  whom  she  was  referring,  for 
he  had  heard  the  gossip  of  the  youth  of  Monypenny, 
and  he  hesitated  to  answer. 

“ And  if,  when  you  cough,  you  bring  up  a tiny  speck 
of  blood?” 

“I  would  get  a bottle  frae  the  doctor,”  said  Tommy, 
evasively. 

“She  won’t  have  the  doctor,”  answered  Grizel,  un- 
guardedly, and  then  with  a look  dared  Tommy  to  say 
that  she  spoke  of  her  mother. 

“Does  it  mean  you  are  dying  ?” 

“I  — I — oh,  no,  they  soon  get  better.” 

He  said  this  because  he  was  so  sorry  for  Grizel. 
There  never  was  a more  sympathetic  nature  than 
Tommy’s.  At  every  time  of  his  life  his  pity  was 
easily  roused  for  persons  in  distress,  and  he  sought  to 
comfort  them  by  shutting  their  eyes  to  the  truth  as 
long  as  possible.  This  sometimes  brought  relief  to 
them,  but  it  was  useless  to  Grizel,  who  must  face  her 
troubles. 

“Why  don’t  you  answer  truthfully  ?”  she  cried, 
with  vehemence.  “It  is  so  easy  to  be  truthful!” 


276 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Well,  then,”  said  Tommy,  reluctantly,  “I  think 
they  generally  die.” 

Elspeth  often  carried  in  her  pocket  a little  Testament, 
presented  to  her  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Dishart  for  learning 
by  heart  one  of  the  noblest  of  books,  the  Shorter 
Catechism,  as  Scottish  children  do  or  did,  not  under- 
standing it  at  the  time,  but  its  meaning  comes  long 
afterwards  and  suddenly,  when  you  have  most  need  of 
it.  Sometimes  Elspeth  read  aloud  from  her  Testament 
to  Grizel,  who  made  no  comment,  but  this  same  even- 
ing, when  the  two  were  alone,  she  said  abruptly:^ 

“ Have  you  your  Testament  ? ” 

“ Yes,”  Elspeth  said,  producing  it. 

“ Which  is  the  page  about  saving  sinners  ? ” 

“ It ’s  all  about  that.” 

“But  the  page  when  you  are  in  a hurry  ?” 

Elspeth  read  aloud  the  story  of  the  Crucifixion,  and 
Grizel  listened  sharply  until  she  heard  what  Jesus  said 
to  the  malefactor:  “To-day  shalt  thou  be  with  me  in 
Paradise.” 

“ And  was  he  ? ” 

“Of  course.” 

“ But  he  had  been  wicked  all  his  life,  and  I believe 
he  was  only  good,  just  that  minute,  because  they  were 

crucifying  him.  If  they  had  let  him  come  down ” 

“No,  he  repented,  you  know.  That  means  he  had 
faith,  and  if  you  have  faith  you  are  saved.  It  doesna 
matter  how  bad  you  have  been.  You  have  just  to  say 


GRIZEL  PAYS  THREE  VISITS 


277 


1 1 believe ’ before  you  die,  and  God  lets  you  in.  It  ’s 
so  easy,  Grizel,”  cried  Elspeth,  with  shining  eyes. 

Grizel  pondered.  “I  don’t  believe  it  is  so  easy  as 
that,”  she  said,  decisively. 

Nevertheless  she  asked  presently  what  the  Testament 
cost,  and  when  Elspeth  answered  "Eourpence,”  offered 
her  the  money. 

“I  don’t  want  to  sell  it,”  Elspeth  remonstrated. 

"If  you  don’t  give  it  to  me,  I shall  take  it  from  you/1 
said  Grizel,  determinedly. 

"You  can  buy  one.” 

"No,  the  shop  people  would  guess.** 

" Guess  what  ? ” 

"I  won’t  tell  you.” 

"I  ’ll  lend  it  to  you.” 

"I  won’t  take  it  that  way.”  So  Elspeth  had  to  part 
with  her  Testament,  saying  wonderingly,  "Can  you 
read  ? ” 

"Yes,  and  write  too.  Mamma  taught  me.” 

"But  I thought  she  was  daft,”  Elspeth  blurted  out. 

"She  is  only  daft  now  and  then,”  Grizel  replied, 
without  her  usual  spirit.  "Generally  she  is  not  daft 
at  all,  but  only  timid.” 

Next  morning  the  Painted  Lady’s  child  paid  three 
calls,  one  in  town,  two  in  the  country.  The  adora- 
ble thing  is  that,  once  having  made  up  her  mind,  she 
never  flinched,  not  even  when  her  hand  was  on  the 
knocker. 


278 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


The  first  gentleman  received  her  in  his  lobby.  For  a 
moment  he  did  not  remember  her;  then  suddenly  the 
color  deepened  on  his  face,  and  he  went  back  and  shut 
the  parlor-door. 

“ Did  anybody  see  you  coming  here  ? ” he  asked, 
quickly. 

“I  don’t  know.” 

“ What  does  she  want  ? ” 

“ She  did  not  send  me,  I came  myself.” 

"Well?” 

“ When  you  come  to  our  house  ” 

“I  never  come  to  your  house.” 

“That  is  a lie.” 

“Speak  lower! ” 

“ When  you  come  to  our  house  you  tell  me  to  go  out 
and  play.  But  I don’t.  I go  and  cry.” 

No  doubt  he  was  listening,  but  his  eyes  were  on  the 
parlor-door. 

“I  don't  know  why  I cry,  but  you  know,  you  wicked 
man!  Why  is  it?” 

“ Why  is  it  ? ” she  demanded  again,  like  a queen-child, 
but  he  could  only  fidget  with  his  gold  chain  and  shuffle 
uneasily  in  his  parnella  shoes. 

“You  are  not  coming  to  see  my  mamma  again.” 

The  gentleman  gave  her  an  ugly  look. 

“If  you  do,”  she  said  at  once,  “I  shall  come  straight 
here  and  open  that  door  you  are  looking  at,  and  telJ 
your  wife.” 


GRIZEL  PAYS  THREE  VISITS 


279 


He  dared  not  swear.  His  hand 

“If  you  offer  me  money ,”  said  Grizel,  “I  shall  tell 
her  now.” 

He  muttered  something  to  himself. 

“Is  it  true  ?”  she  asked,  “that  mamma  is  dying  ?” 
This  was  a genuine  shock  to  him,  for  he  had  not 
been  at  Double  Dykes  since  winter,  and  then  the 
Painted  Lady  was  quite  well. 

“Nonsense!”  he  said,  and  his  obvious  disbelief 
brought  some  comfort  to  the  girl.  But  she  asked, 
“ Why  are  there  red  spots  on  her  cheeks,  then  ? ” 
“Paint,”  he  answered. 

“No,”  cried  Grizel,  rocking  her  arms,  “it  is  not  paint 
now.  I thought  it  might  be  and  I tried  to  rub  it  off 
while  she  was  sleeping,  but  it  will  not  come  off.  And 
when  she  coughs  there  is  blood  on  her  handkerchief.” 
He  looked  alarmed  now,  and  GrizePs  fears  came 
back.  “If  mamma  dies,”  she  said  determinedly,  “she 
must  be  buried  in  the  cemetery.” 

“She  is  not  dying,  I tell  you.” 

“ And  you  must  come  to  the  funeral.” 

“Are  you  gyte  ?” 

“With  crape  on  your  hat.” 

His  mouth  formed  an  emphatic  “No.” 

“You  must,”  said  Grizel,  firmly,  “you  shall!  If  you 

don’t ” She  pointed  to  the  parlor-door. 

Her  remaining  two  visits  were  to  a similar  effect,  and 
one  of  the  gentlemen  came  out  of  the  ordeal  somewhat 


280 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 

less  shamefully  than  the  first,  the  other  worse,  for  he 
blubbered  and  wanted  to  kiss  her.  It  is  questionable 
whether  many  young  ladies  have  made  such  a profound 
impression  in  a series  of  morning  calls. 

The  names  of  these  gentlemen  are  not  known,  but 
you  shall  be  told  presently  where  they  may  be  found. 
Every  person  in  Thrums  used  to  know  the  place,  and 
many  itched  to  get  at  the  names,  but  as  yet  no  one  has 
had  the  nerve  to  look  for  them. 

Not  at  this  time  did  Grizel  say  a word  of  these  inter- 
views to  her  friends,  though  Tommy  had  to  be  told  of 
them  later,  and  she  never  again  referred  to  her  mother 
at  the  Saturday  evenings  in  the  Den.  But  the  others 
began  to  know  a queer  thing,  nothing  less  than  this, 
that  in  their  absence  the  lair  was  sometimes  visited  by 
a person  or  persons  unknown,  who  made  use  of  their 
stock  of  firewood.  It  was  a startling  discovery,  but 
when  they  discussed  it  in  council,  Grizel  never  con- 
tributed a word.  The  affair  remained  a mystery  until 
one  Saturday  evening,  when  Tommy  and  Elspeth, 
reaching  the  lair  first,  found  in  it  a delicate  white 
shawl.  They  both  recognized  in  it  the  pretty  thing  the 
Painted  Lady  had  pinned  across  her  shoulders  on  the 
night  they  saw  her  steal  out  of  Double  Dykes,  to  meet 
the  man  of  long  ago. 

Even  while  their  eyes  were  saying  this,  Grizel 
climbed  in  without  giving  the  password,  and  they  knew 
from  her  quick  glance  around  that  she  had  come  for  the 


GRIZEL  PAYS  THREE  VISITS 


281 


shawl.  She  snatched  it  out  of  Tommy’s  hand  with  a 
look  that  prohibited  questions. 

“ It ’s  the  pair  o’  them,”  Tommy  said  to  Elspeth  at 
the  first  opportunity,  “that  sometimes  comes  here  at 
nights  and  kindles  the  fire  and  warms  themsels  at  the 
gloze.  And  the  last  time  they  came  they  forgot  the 
shawl.” 

“ I dinna  like  to  think  the  Painted  Lady  has  been  up 
here,  Tommy.” 

44  But  she  has.  You  ken  how,  when  she  has  a daft  fit, 
she  wanders  the  Den  trysting  the  man  that  never  comes. 
Has  she  no  been  seen  at  all  hours  o’  the  night,  Grizel 
following  a wee  bit  ahint,  like  as  if  to  take  tent  o’ 
her?” 

“ They  say  that,  and  that  Grizel  canna  get  her  to  go 
home  till  the  daft  fit  has  passed.” 

“ Well,  she  has  that  kechering  hoast  and  spit  now, 
and  so  Grizel  brings  her  up  here  out  o’  the  blasts.” 

“ But  how  could  she  be  got  to  come  here,  if  she  winna 
go  home  ? ” 

“Because  frae  here  she  can  watch  for  the  man.” 

Elspeth  shuddered.  “ Do  you  think  she ’s  here  often, 
Tommy  ? ” she  asked. 

“ Just  when  she  has  a daft  fit  on,  and  they  say  she  *s 
wise  sax  days  in  seven.” 

This  made  the  Jacobite  meetings  eerie  events  for 
Elspeth,  but  Tommy  liked  them  the  better;  and  what 
were  they  not  to  Grizel,  who  ran  to  them  with  passion* 


282 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


ate  fondness  every  Saturday  night  ? Sometimes  she 
even  outdistanced  her  haunting  dreads,  for  she  knew 
that  her  mother  did  not  think  herself  seriously  ill;  and 
had  not  the  three  gentlemen  made  light  of  that  curious 
cough  ? So  there  were  nights  when  the  lair  saw  Grizel 
go  riotous  with  glee,  laughing,  dancing,  and  shouting 
over-much,  like  one  trying  to  make  up  for  a lost  child- 
hood. But  it  was  also  noticed  that  when  the  time  came 
to  leave  the  Den  she  was  very  loath,  and  kissed 
her  hands  to  the  places  where  she  had  been  happiest, 
saying,  wistfully,  and  with  pretty  gestures  that  were 
foreign  to  Thrums,  “ Good-night,  dear  Cuttle  Well! 
Good-by,  sweet,  sweet  Lair!”  as  if  she  knew  it  could 
Jiot  last.  These  weekly  risings  in  the  Den  were  most 
real  to  Tommy,  but  it  w^  Grizel  who  loved  them  best. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


A ROMANCE  OF  TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A STOUT 
BACHELOR 

Came  Gavinia,  a burgess  of  the  besieged  city,  along 
the  south  shore  of  the  Silent  Pool,  She  was  but  a 
maid  seeking  to  know  what  love  might  be,  and  as  she 
wandered  on,  she  nibbled  dreamily  at  a hot  sweet- 
smelling bridie,  whose  gravy  oofced  deliciously  through 
a bursting  paper-bag. 

It  was  a fit  night  for  dark  deeds. 

“Methinks  she  cometh  to  her  damn!  ” 

The  speaker  was  a masked  man  who  had  followed 
her  — he  was  sniffing  ecstatically  — since  she  left  the 
city  walls. 

She  seemed  to  possess  a charmed  life.  He  would 
have  had  her  in  Shovel  Gorge,  but  just  then  Ronny- 
On’s  Jean  and  Peter  Scrymgeour  turned  the  corner. 

Suddenly  Gavinia  felt  an  exquisite  thrill:  a man  was 
pursuing  her.  She  slipped  the  paper-bag  out  of  sight, 
holding  it  dexterously  against  her  side  with  her  arm,  so 
that  the  gravy  should  not  spurt  out,  and  ran.  Lights 
flashed,  a kingly  voice  cried  “Now!”  and  immediately 


284 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


a petticoat  was  flung  over  her  head.  (The  Lady 
Griselda  looked  thin  that  evening.) 

Gavinia  was  dragged  to  the  Lair,  and  though  many  a 
time  they  bumped  her,  she  still  tenderly  nursed  the 
paper-bag  with  her  arm,  or  fondly  thought  she  did  so, 
for  when  unmuffled  she  discovered  that  it  had  been 
removed,  as  if  by  painless  surgery.  And  her  captors1 
tongues  were  sweeping  their  chins  for  stray  crumbs. 

The  wench  was  offered  her  choice  of  Stroke’s  gallant 
fellows,  but  “Wha  carries  me  wears  me,”  said  she, 
promptly,  and  not  only  had  he  to  carry  her  from  one 
end  of  the  Den  to  the  other,  but  he  must  do  it  whistling 
as  if  barely  conscious  that  she  was  there.  So  after 
many  attempts  (for  she  was  always  willing  to  let  them 
have  their  try)  Corp  of  Corp,  speaking  for  Sir  Joseph 
and  the  others,  announced  a general  retreat. 

Instead  of  taking  this  prisoner’s  life,  Stroke  made 
her  his  tool,  releasing  her  on  condition  that  every 
seventh  day  she  appeared  at  the  Lair  with  information 
concerning  the  doings  in  the  town.  Also,  her  name 
was  Agnes  of  Kingoldrum,  and,  if  she  said  it  was  not, 
the  plank.  Bought  thus,  Agnes  proved  of  service, 
bringing  such  bags  of  news  that  Stroke  was  often 
occupied  now  in  drawing  diagrams  of  Thrums  and  its 
strongholds,  including  the  residence  of  Cathro,  with 
dotted  lines  to  show  the  direction  of  proposed  under- 
ground passages. 

And  presently  came  by  this  messenger  disquieting 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  285 


rumors  indeed.  Another  letter,  being  the  third  in  six 
months,  had  reached  the  Dovecot,  addressed,  not  to 
Miss  Ailie,  but  to  Miss  Kitty.  Miss  Kitty  had  been 
dead  fully  six  years,  and  Archie  Piatt,  the  post,  swore 
that  this  was  the  eighteenth,  if  not  the  nineteenth, 
letter  he  had  delivered  to  her  name  since  that  time. 
They  were  all  in  the  same  hand,  a man’s,  and  there  had 
been  similar  letters  while  she  was  alive,  but  of  these  he 
kept  no  record.  Miss  Ailie  always  took  these  letters 
with  a trembling  hand,  and  then  locked  herself  in  her 
bedroom,  leaving  the  key  in  such  a position  in  its  hole 
that  you  might  just  as  well  go  straight  back  to  the 
kitchen.  Within  a few  hours  of  the  arrival  of  these 
ghostly  letters,  tongues  were  wagging  about  them,  but 
to  the  two  or  three  persons  who  (after  passing  a sleep- 
less night)  bluntly  asked  Miss  Ailie  from  whom  they 
came,  she  only  replied  by  pursing  her  lips.  Nothing 
could  be  learned  at  the  post-office  save  that  Miss  Ailie 
never  posted  any  letters  there,  except  to  two  Misses 
and  a Mrs.,  all  resident  in  Redlintie.  The  mysterious 
letters  came  from  Australy  or  Manchester,  or  some 
such  part. 

What  could  Stroke  make  of  this  ? He  expressed  no 
opinion,  but  oh,  his  face  was  grim.  Orders  were  imme- 
diately given  to  double  the  sentinels.  A barrel  was 
placed  in  the  Queen’s  Bower.  Sawdust  was  introduced 
at  immense  risk  into  the  Lair.  A paper  containing  this 
writing,  24Sxho317  Oxh4591AWS3 14dd5,”  was  passed 


286 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


round  and  then  solemnly  burned.  Nothing  was  left  to 
chance. 

Agnes  of  Kingoldrum  (Stroke  told  her)  did  not  know 
Miss  Ailie,  but  she  was  commanded  to  pay  special 
attention  to  the  gossip  of  the  town  regarding  this  new 
move  of  the  enemy.  By  next  Saturday  the  plot  had 
thickened.  Previous  letters  might  have  reddened  Miss 
Ailie’s  eyes  for  an  hour  or  two,  but  they  gladdened  her 
as  a whole.  Now  she  sat  crying  all  evening  with  this 
one  on  her  lap;  she  gave  up  her  daily  walk  to  the 
Berlin  wool  shop,  with  all  its  romantic  possibilities;  at 
the  clatter  of  the  tea-things  she  would  start  apprehen- 
sively ; she  had  let  a red  shawl  lie  for  two  days  in  the 
blue-and-white  room. 

Stroke  never  blanched.  He  called  his  faithful 
remnant  around  him,  and  told  them  the  story  of  Bell 
the  Cat,  with  its  application  in  the  records  of  his  race. 
Did  they  take  his  meaning  ? This  Miss  Ailie  must 
be  watched  closely.  In  short,  once  more,  in  Scot- 
tish history,  someone  must  bell  the  cat.  Who  would 
volunteer  ? 

Corp  of  Corp  and  Sir  Joseph  stepped  forward  as  one 
man. 

“Thou  couldst  not  look  like  Gavinia,”  the  prince 
said,  shaking  his  head. 

“ Wha  wants  him  to  look  like  Gavinia  ? ” cried  an 
indignant  voice. 

“ Peace,  Agnes ! ” said  Stroke. 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  287 


“Agnes,  why  bletherest  thou  ?”  said  Sir  Joseph. 

“If  onybody  ’s  to  watch  Miss  Ailie,”  insisted  the 
obstinate  woman,  “surely  it  should  be  me  ! ” 

“Ha!”  Stroke  sprang  to  his  feet,  for  something  in 
her  voice,  or  the  outline  of  her  figure,  or  perhaps  it  was 
her  profile,  had  given  him  an  idea.  “A  torch!”  he 
cried  eagerly  and  with  its  aid  he  scanned  her  face  until 
his  own  shone  triumphant. 

“ He  kens  a wy,  methinks ! ” exclaimed  one  of  his  men. 

Sir  Joseph  was  right.  It  had  been  among  the 
prince’s  exploits  to  make  his  way  into  Thrums  in  dis- 
guise, and  mix  with  the  people  as  one  of  themselves, 
and  on  several  of  these  occasions  he  had  seen  Miss 
Ailie’s  attendant.  Agnes’s  resemblance  to  her  now 
struck  him  for  the  first  time.  It  should  be  Agnes  of 
Kingoldrum’s  honorable  though  dangerous  part  to  take 
this  Gavinia’s  place. 

But  how  to  obtain  possession  of  Gavinia’s  person  ? 
Agnes  made  several  suggestions , but  was  told  to  hold 
her  prating  peace.  It  could  only  be  done  in  one  way. 
They  must  kidnap  her.  Sir  Joseph  was  ordered  to  be 
ready  to  accompany  his  liege  on  this  perilous  enterprise 
in  ten  minutes.  “And  mind,”  said  Stroke,  gravely, 
“we  carry  our  lives  in  our  hands.” 

“In  our  hands!  ” gasped  Sir  Joseph,  greatly  puzzled, 
but  he  dared  ask  no  more,  and  when  the  two  set  forth 
(leaving  Agnes  of  Kingoldrum  looking  very  uncomfort- 
able), he  was  surprised  to  see  that  Stroke  was  carrying 


288 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


nothing.  Sir  Joseph  carried  in  his  hand  his  red  hanky, 
mysteriously  knotted. 

“ Where  is  yours  ? ” he  whispered. 

“ What  meanest  thou  ? ” 

Sir  Joseph  replied,  “Oh,  nothing, ” and  thought  it 
best  to  slip  his  handkerchief  into  his  trouser-pocket, 
but  the  affair  bothered  him  for  long  afterwards. 

When  they  returned  through  the  Den,  there  still 
seemed  (to  the  unpiercing  eye)  to  be  but  two  of  them; 
nevertheless,  Stroke  re-entered  the  Lair  to  announce  to 
Agnes  and  the  others  that  he  had  left  Gavinia  below  in 
charge  of  Sir  Joseph.  She  was  to  walk  the  plank  anon, 
but  first  she  must  be  stripped  that  Agnes  might  don  her 
garments.  Stroke  was  every  inch  a prince,  so  he  kept 
Agnes  by  his  side,  and  sent  down  the  Lady  Griselda 
and  Widow  Elspeth  to  strip  the  prisoner,  Sir  Joseph 
having  orders  to  stand  back  fifty  paces.  (It  is  a 
pleasure  to  have  to  record  this.) 

The  signal  having  been  given  that  this  delicate  task 
was  accomplished,  Stroke  whistled  shrilly,  and  next 
moment  was  heard  from  far  below  a thud,  as  of  a body 
falling  in  water,  then  an  agonizing  shriek,  and  then 
again  all  was  still,  save  for  the  heavy  breathing  of 
Agnes  of  Kingoldrum. 

Sir  Joseph  (very  wet)  returned  to  the  Lair,  and  Agnes 
was  commanded  to  take  off  her  clothes  in  a retired  spot 
and  put  on  those  of  the  deceased,  which  she  should  find 
behind  a fallen  tree. 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR 


289 


“I  winna  be  called  the  deceased,”  cried  Agnes  hotly, 
but  she  had  to  do  as  she  was  bid,  and  when  she  emerged 
from  behind  the  tree  she  was  the  very  image  of  the  ill- 
fated  Gavinia.  Stroke  showed  her  a plan  of  Miss  Ailie’s 
backdoor,  and  also  gave  her  a kitchen  key  (when  he 
produced  this,  she  felt  in  her  pockets  and  then  snatched 
it  from  him),  after  which  she  set  out  for  the  Dovecot 
in  a scare  about  her  own  identity. 

“ And  now,  what  doest  thou  think  about  it  a’  ? ” 
inquired  Sir  Joseph  eagerly,  to  which  Stroke  made 
answer,  looking  at  him  fixedly. 

“The  wind  is  in  the  west!  ” 

Sir  Joseph  should  have  kept  this  a secret,  but  soon  . 
Stroke  heard  Inverquharity  prating  of  it,  and  he  called 
his  lieutenant  before  him.  Sir  Joseph  acknowledged 
humbly  that  he  had  been  unable  to  hide  it  from  Inver- 
quharity, but  he  promised  not  to  tell  Muckle  Kenny, 
of  whose  loyalty  there  were  doubts.  Henceforth,  when 
the  faithful  fellow  was  Muckle  Kenny,  he  would  say 
doggedly  to  himself,  “Dinna  question  me,  Kenny.  I 
ken  nocht  about  it.” 

Dark  indeed  were  now  the  fortunes  of  the  Pretender, 
but  they  had  one  bright  spot.  Miss  Ailie  had  been 
taken  in  completely  by  the  trick  played  on  her,  and 
thus  Stroke  now  got  full  information  of  the  enemy’s 
doings.  Cathro  having  failed  to  dislodge  the  Jacobites, 
the  seac  of  war  had  been  changed  by  Victoria  to  the 
Dovecot,  whither  her  despatches  were  now  forwarded. 

19 


290 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


That  this  last  one,  of  which  Agnes  of  Kingoldrum  tried 
in  vain  to  obtain  possession,  doubled  the  price  on  the 
Pretender's  head,  there  could  be  no  doubt;  but  as  Miss 
Ailie  was  a notorious  Hanoverian,  only  the  hunted 
prince  himself  knew  why  this  should  make  her  cry. 

He  hinted  with  a snigger  something  about  an  affair 
he  had  once  had  with  the  lady. 

The  Widow  and  Sir  Joseph  accepted  this  explana- 
tion, but  it  made  Lady  Griselda  rock  her  arms  in 
irritation. 

The  reports  about  Miss  Ailie’s  behavior  became  more 
and  more  alarming.  She  walked  up  and  down  her  bed- 
room now  in  the  middle  of  the  night.  Every  time  the 
knocker  clanked  she  held  herself  together  with  both 
hands.  Agnes  had  orders  not  to  answer  the  door  until 
her  mistress  had  keeked  through  the  window. 

“She’s  expecting  a veesitor,  methinks,”  said  Corp. 
This  was  his  bright  day. 

“Ay,”  answered  Agnes,  “but  is ’t  a man-body,  or  just 
a woman-body  ? ” 

Leaving  the  rebels  in  the  Lair  stunned  by  Victoria’s 
latest  move,  we  now  return  to  Thrums,  where  Miss 
Ailie’s  excited  state  had  indeed  been  the  talk  of  many. 
Even  the  gossips,  however,  had  underestimated  her 
distress  of  mind,  almost  as  much  as  they  misunderstood 
its  cause.  You  must  listen  now  (will  you  ?)  to  so  mild 
a thing  as  the  long  thin  romance  of  two  maiden  ladies 
and  a stout  bachelor,  all  beginning  to  be  old  the  day 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR 


291 


the  three  of  them  first  drank  tea  together,  and  that  was 
ten  years  ago. 

Miss  Ailie  and  Miss  Kitty,  you  may  remember,  were 
not  natives  of  Thrums.  They  had  been  born  and 
brought  up  at  Kedlintie,  and  on  the  death  of  their 
parents  they  had  remained  there,  the  gauger  having 
left  them  all  his  money,  which  was  just  sufficient  to 
enable  them  to  live  like  ladies,  if  they  took  tiny 
Magenta  Cottage,  and  preferred  an  inexperienced  maid. 
At  first  their  life  was  very  quiet,  the  walk  from  eleven 
to  one  for  the  good  of  fragile  Miss  Kitty’s  health  its 
outstanding  feature.  When  they  strolled  together  on 
the  cliffs,  Miss  Ailie’s  short  thick  figure,  straight  as  an 
elvint,  cut  the  wind  in  two,  but  Miss  Kitty  was  swayed 
this  way  and  that,  and  when  she  shook  her  curls  at  the 
wind,  it  blew  them  roguishly  in  her  face,  and  had 
another  shot  at  them,  as  soon  as  they  were  put  to 
rights.  If  the  two  walked  by  the  shore  (where  the 
younger  sometimes  bathed  her  feet,  the  elder  keeping 
a sharp  eye  on  land  and  water),  the  sea  behaved  like 
the  wind,  dodging  Miss  Ailie’s  ankles  and  snapping 
playfully  at  Miss  Kitty’s.  Thus  even  the  elements 
could  distinguish  between  the  sisters,  who  neverthe- 
less had  so  much  in  common  that  at  times  Miss  Ailie 
would  look  into  her  mirror  and  sigh  to  think  that  some 
day  Miss  Kitty  might  be  like  this.  How  Miss  Ailie 
adored  Miss  Kitty ! She  trembled  with  pleasure  if  you 
said  Miss  Kitty  was  pretty,  and  she  dreamed  dreams 


292 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


in  which  she  herself  walked  as  bridesmaid  only.  And 
just  as  Miss  Ailie  could  be  romantic,  Miss  Kitty,  the 
romantic,  could  be  prim,  and  the  primness  was  her  own 
as  much  as  the  curls,  but  Miss  Ailie  usually  carried  it 
for  her,  like  a cloak  in  case  of  rain. 

Not  often  have  two  sweeter  women  grown  together  on 
one  stem.  What  were  the  men  of  Kedlintie  about  ? 
The  sisters  never  asked  each  other  this  question,  but 
there  were  times  when,  apparently  without  cause,  Miss 
Ailie  hugged  Miss  Kitty  vehemently,  as  if  challenging 
the  world,  and  perhaps  Miss  Kitty  understood. 

Thus  a year  or  more  passed  uneventfully,  until  the 
one  romance  of  their  lives  befell  them.  It  began  with 
the  reappearance  in  Kedlintie  of  Magerful  Tam,  who 
had  come  to  torment  his  father  into  giving  him  more 
money,  but,  finding  he  had  come  too  late,  did  not  harass 
the  sisters.  This  is  perhaps  the  best  thing  that  can  be 
told  of  him,  and,  as  if  he  knew  this,  he  had  often  told 
it  himself  to  Jean  Myles,  without  hoWever  telling  her 
what  followed.  For  something  to  his  advantage  did 
follow,  and  it  was  greatly  to  the  credit  of  Miss  Ailie 
and  Miss  Kitty,  though  they  went  about  it  as  timidiy 
as  if  they  were  participating  in  a crime.  Ever  since 
they  learned  of  the  sin  which  had  brought  this  man 
into  the  world  their  lives  had  been  saddened,  for  on  the 
same  day  they  realized  what  a secret  sorrow  had  long 
lain  at  their  mother’s  heart.  Alison  Sibbald  was  a 
very  simple  gracious  lady,  who  never  recovered  from 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  293 


the  shock  of  discovering  that  she  had  married  a liber- 
tine; yet  she  had  pressed  her  husband  to  do  something 
for  his  son,  and  been  greatly  pained  when  he  refused 
with  a coarse  laugh.  The  daughters  were  very  like  her 
in  nature,  and  though  the  knowledge  of  what  she  had 
suffered  increased  many  fold  their  love  for  her,  so  that 
in  her  last  days  their  passionate  devotion  to  her  was 
the  talk  of  Redlintie,  it  did  not  blind  them  to  what 
seemed  to  them  to  be  their  duty  to  the  man.  As  their 
father’s  son,  they  held,  he  had  a right  to  a third  of  the 
gauger’s  money,  and  to  withhold  it  from  him,  now  that 
they  knew  his  whereabouts,  would  have  been  a form  of 
theft.  But  how  to  give  T.  his  third  ? They  called 
him  T.  from  delicacy,  and  they  had  never  spoken  to 
him.  When  he  passed  them  in  the  streets,  they  turned 
pale,  and,  thinking  of  their  mother,  looked  another 
way.  But  they  knew  he  winked. 

At  last,  looking  red  in  one  street,  and  white  in 
another,  but  resolute  in  all,  they  took  their  business  to 
the  office  of  Mr.  John  McLean,  the  writer,  who  had 
once  escorted  Miss  Kitty  home  from  a party  without 
anything  coming  of  it,  so  that  it  was  quite  a psycho- 
logical novel  in  several  volumes.  Now  Mr.  John  hap- 
pened to  be  away  at  the  fishing,  and  a reckless  maid 
showed  them  into  the  presence  of  a strange  man,  who 
was  no  other  than  his  brother  Ivie,  home  for  a year’s 
holiday  from  India,  and  naturally  this  extraordinary 
occurrence  so  agitated  them  that  Miss  Ailie  had  told 


294 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


half  her  story  before  she  realized  that  Miss  Kitty  was 
titting  at  her  dress.  Then  indeed  she  sought  to  with- 
draw, but  Ivie,  with  the  alarming  yet  not  unpleasing 
audacity  of  his  sex,  said  he  had  heard  enough  to  con- 
vince him  that  in  this  matter  he  was  qualified  to  take 
his  brother’s  place.  But  he  was  not,  for  he  announced, 
“My  advice  to  you  is  not  to  give  T.  a halfpenny,”  which 
showed  that  he  did  not  even  understand  what  they  had 
come  about. 

They  begged  permission  to  talk  to  each  other  behind 
the  door,  and  presently  returned,  troubled  but  brave. 
Miss  Kitty  whispered  “Courage!”  and  this  helped 
Miss  Ailie  to  the  deed. 

“We  have  quite  made  up  our  minds  to  let  T.  have 
the  money,”  she  said,  “but  — but  the  difficulty  is  the 
taking  it  to  him.  Must  we  take  it  in  person  ? ” 

“ Why  not  ? ” asked  Ivie,  bewildered. 

“It  would  be  such  a painful  meeting  to  us,”  said 
Miss  Ailie. 

“And  to  him,”  added  simple  Miss  Kitty. 

“You  see  we  have  thought  it  best  not  to  — not  to 
know  him,”  said  Miss  Ailie,  faintly. 

“ Mother ” faltered  Miss  Kitty,  and  at  the  word 

the  eyes  of  both  ladies  began  to  fill. 

Then,  of  course,  Mr.  McLean  discovered  the  object  of 
their  visit,  and  promised  that  his  brother  should  take 
this  delicate  task  off  their  hands,  and  as  he  bowed 
them  out  he  said,  “Ladies,  I think  you  are  doing  a very 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  295 


foolish  thing,  and  I shall  respect  you  for  it  all  my 
life.”  At  least  Miss  Kitty  insisted  that  respect  was 
the  word,  Miss  Ailie  thought  he  said  esteem. 

That  was  how  it  began , and  it  progressed  for  nearly 
a year  at  a rate  that  will  take  away  your  breath.  On 
the  very  next  day  he  met  Miss  Kitty  in  High  Street,  a 
most  awkward  encounter  for  her  (“for,  you  know, 
Ailie,  we  were  never  introduced,  so  how  could  I decide 
all  in  a moment  what  to  do  ? ”),  and  he  raised  his  hat 
(the  Misses  Croall  were  at  their  window  and  saw  the 
whole  thing).  But  we  must  gallop,  like  the  friendship. 
He  bowed  the  first  two  times,  the  third  time  he  shook 
hands  (by  a sort  of  providence  Miss  Kitty  had  put  on 
her  new  mittens),  the  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  times  he 
conversed,  the  seventh  time  he  — they  replied  that  they 
really  could  not  trouble  him  so  much,  but  he  said  he 
was  going  that  way  at  any  rate ; the  eighth  time,  ninth 
time,  and  tenth  time  the  figures  of  two  ladies  and  a 
gentleman  might  have  been  observed,  etc.,  and  either 
the  eleventh  or  twelfth  time  (“Fancy  our  not  being 
sure,  Ailie”  — “It  has  all  come  so  quickly,  Kitty”)  he 
took  his  first  dish  of  tea  at  Magenta  Cottage. 

There  were  many  more  walks  after  this,  often  along 
the  cliffs  to  a little  fishing  village,  over  which  the 
greatest  of  magicians  once  stretched  his  wand,  so  that 
it  became  famous  forever,  as  all  the  world  saw  except 
himself;  and  tea  at  the  cottage  followed,  when  Ivie 
asked  Miss  Kitty  to  sing  “The  Land  o’  the  Leal,”  and 


296 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Miss  Ailie  sat  by  the  window,  taking  in  her  merino, 
that  it  might  fit  Miss  Kitty,  cutting  her  sable  muff 
(once  Alison  Sibbald’s)  into  wristbands  for  Miss  Kitty’s 
astrakhan ; they  did  not  go  quite  all  the  way  round,  but 
men  are  blind. 

Ivie  was  not  altogether  blind.  The  sisters,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  called  him  the  dashing  McLean,  but  he  was 
at  this  time  nearly  forty  years  old,  an  age  when 
bachelors  like  to  take  a long  rest  from  thinking  of 
matrimony,  before  beginning  again.  Fifteen  years 
earlier  he  had  been  in  love,  but  the  girl  had  not  cared 
to  wait  for  him,  and,  though  in  India  he  had  often 
pictured  himself  returning  to  Redlintie  to  gaze  wist- 
fully at  her  old  home,  when  he  did  come  back  he  never 
went,  because  the  house  was  a little  out  of  the  way. 
But  unknown  to  him  two  ladies  went,  to  whom  he  had 
told  this  as  a rather  dreary  joke.  They  were  ladies  he 
esteemed  very  much,  though  having  a sense  of  humor 
he  sometimes  chuckled  on  his  way  home  from  Magenta 
Cottage,  and  he  thought  out  many  ways  of  adding  little 
pleasures  to  their  lives.  It  was  like  him  to  ask  Miss 
Kitty  to  sing  and  play,  though  he  disliked  music.  He 
understood  that  it  is  a hard  world  for  single  women, 
and  knew  himself  for  a very  ordinary  sort  of  man.  If 
it  ever  crossed  his  head  that  Miss  Kitty  would  be 
willing  to  marry  him,  he  felt  genuinely  sorry  at  the 
same  time  that  she  had  not  done  better  long  ago.  He 
never  flattered  himself  that  he  could  be  accepted  now, 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  297 

save  for  the  good  home  he  could  provide  (he  was  not 
the  man  to  blame  women  for  being  influenced  by  that), 
for  like  most  of  his  sex  he  was  unaware  that  a woman, 
is  never  too  old  to  love  or  to  be  loved;  if  they  do  know 
it,  the  mean  ones  among  them  make  a jest  of  it,  at  which 
(God  knows  why)  their  wives  laugh.  Mr.  McLean  had 
been  acquainted  with  the  sisters  for  months  before  he 
was  sure  even  that  Miss  Kitty  was  his  favorite.  He 
found  that  out  one  evening  when  sitting  with  an  old 
friend,  whose  wife  and  children  were  in  the  room, 
gathered  round  a lamp  and  playing  at  some  child’s 
game.  Suddenly  Ivie  McLean  envied  his  friend,  and 
at  the  same  moment  he  thought  tenderly  of  Miss  Kitty. 
But  the  feeling  passed.  He  experienced  it  next  and  as 
suddenly  when  arriving  at  Bombay,  where  some  women 
were  waiting  to  greet  their  husbands. 

Before  he  went  away  the  two  gentlewomen  knew  that 
he  was  not  to  speak.  They  did  not  tell  each  other 
what  was  in  their  minds.  Miss  Kitty  was  so  bright 
during  those  last  days,  that  she  must  have  deceived 
anyone  who  did  not  love  her,  and  Miss  Ailie  held  her 
mouth  very  tight,  and  if  possible  was  straighter  than 
ever,  but  oh,  how  gentle  she  was  with  Miss  Kitty! 
Ivie’s  last  two  weeks  in  the  old  country  were  spent  in 
London,  and  during  that  time  Miss  Kitty  liked  to  go 
away  by  herself,  and  sit  on  a rock  and  gaze  at  the  sea. 
Once  Miss  Ailie  followed  her  and  would  have  called 
him  a 


298 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Don’t,  Ailie!”  said  Miss  Kitty,  imploringly.  But 
that  night,  when  Miss  Kitty  was  brushing  her  hair, 
she  said,  courageously,  “Ailie,  I don’t  think  I should 
wear  curls  any  longer.  You  know  I — 1 shall  be 
thirty-seven  in  August.”  And  after  the  elder  sister 
had  become  calm  again,  Miss  Kitty  said  timidly, 
“You  don’t  think  I have  been  unladylike,  do  you, 
Ailie  ? ” 

Such  a trifle  now  remains  to  tell.  Miss  Kitty  was 
the  better  business  woman  of  the  two,  and  kept  the 
accounts,  and  understood,  as  Miss  Ailie  could  not 
understand,  how  their  little  income  was  invested,  and 
even  knew  what  consols  were,  though  never  quite 
certain  whether  it  was  their  fall  or  rise  that  is  matter 
for  congratulation.  And  after  the  ship  had  sailed,  she 
told  Miss  Ailie  that  nearly  all  their  money  was  lost, 
and  that  she  had  known  it  for  a month. 

“ And  you  kept  it  from  me ! Why  ? ” 

“ I thought,  Ailie,  that  you,  knowing  I am  not  strong 
— that  you  — would  perhaps  tell  him.” 

“ And  I would ! ” cried  Miss  Ailie. 

“And  then,”  said  Miss  Kitty,  “perhaps  he,  out  of 
pity,  you  know!” 

“Well,  even  if  he  had! ” said  Miss  Ailie. 

“I  could  not,  oh,  I could  not,”  replied  Miss  Kitty, 
flushing;  “it  — it  would  not  have  been  ladylike, 
Ailie.” 

Thus  forced  to  support  themselves,  the  sisters  decided 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  299 

to  keep  school  genteelly,  and,  hearing  that  there  was  an 
opening  in  Thrums,  they  settled  there,  and  Miss  Kitty 
brushed  her  hair  out  now,  and  with  a twist  and  a twirl 
ran  it  up  her  fingers  into  a net,  whence  by  noon  some 
of  it  had  escaped  through  the  little  windows  and  was 
curls  again.  She  and  Miss  Ailie  were  happy  in  Thrums, 
for  time  took  the  pain  out  of  the  affair  of  Mr.  McLean, 
until  it  became  not  merely  a romantic  memory,  but, 
with  the  letters  he  wrote  to  Miss  Kitty  and  her  answers, 
the  great  quiet  pleasure  of  their  lives.  They  were 
friendly  letters  only,  but  Miss  Kitty  wrote  hers  out  in 
pencil  first  and  read  them  to  Miss  Ailie,  who  had  been 
taking  notes  for  them. 

In  the  last  weeks  of  Miss  Kitty’s  life  Miss  Ailie 
conceived  a passionate  unspoken  hatred  of  Mr.  McLean, 
and  her  intention  was  to  write  and  tell  him  that  he  had 
killed  her  darling.  But  owing  to  the  illness  into  which 
she  was  flung  by  Miss  Kitty’s  death,  that  unjust  letter 
was  never  written. 

But  why  did  Mr.  McLean  continue  to  write  to  Miss 
Kitty  ? 

Well,  have  pity  or  be  merciless  as  you  choose.  For 
several  years  Mr.  McLean’s  letters  had  been  the  one 
thing  the  sisters  looked  forward  to,  and  now,  when 
Miss  Ailie  was  without  Miss  Kitty,  must  she  lose 
them  also  ? She  never  doubted,  though  she  may  have 
been  wrong,  that,  if  Ivie  knew  of  Miss  Kitty’s  death, 
one  letter  would  come  in  answer,  and  that  the  last. 


300 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


She  could  not  tell  him.  In  the  meantime  he  wrote 
twice  asking  the  reason  of  this  long  silence,  and  at 
last  Miss  Ailie,  whose  handwriting  was  very  like 
her  sisters,  wrote  him  a letter  which  was  posted  at 
Tilliedrum  and  signed  “ Katherine  Cray.”  The  thing 
seems  monstrous,  but  this  gentle  lady  did  it,  and  it 
was  never  so  difficult  to  do  again.  Latterly,  it  had  been 
easy. 

This  last  letter  of  Mr.  McLean’s  announced  to  Miss 
Kitty  that  he  was  about  to  start  for  home  “for  good,” 
and  he  spoke  in  it  of  coming  to  Thrums  to  see  the 
sisters,  as  soon  as  he  reached  Redlintie.  Poor  Miss 
Ailie ! After  sleepless  nights  she  trudged  to  the 
Tilliedrum  post-office  with  a full  confession  of  her 
crime,  which  would  be  her  welcome  home  to  him  when 
he  arrived  at  his  brother’s  house.  Many  of  the  words 
were  written  on  damp  blobs.  After  that  she  could  do 
nothing  but  wait  for  the  storm,  and  waiting  she  became 
so  meek,  that  Gavinia,  who  loved  her  because  she  was 
“that  simple,”  said  sorrowfully: 

“ How  is ’t  you  never  rage  at  me  now,  ma’am  ? I’m 
sure  it  keepit  you  lightsome,  and  I likit  to  hear  the 
bum  o’t.” 

“And  instead  o’  the  raging  I was  prigging  for,”  the 
soft-hearted  maid  told  her  friends,  “she  gave  me  a 
flannel  petticoat!”  Indeed,  Miss  Ailie  had  taken  to 
giving  away  her  possessions  at  this  time,  like  a woman 
who  thought  she  was  on  her  death-bed.  There  was 


TWO  OLD  MAIDS  AND  A BACHELOR  301 


something  for  each  of  her  pupils,  including  — but  the 
important  thing  is  that  there  was  a gift  for  Tommy, 
which  had  the  effect  of  planting  the  Hanoverian  Woman 
(to  whom  he  must  have  given  many  uneasy,  moments) 
more  securely  on  the  British  Throne. 


CHAPTEK  XXV 


A PENNY  PASS-BOOK 

Elspeth  conveyed  the  gift  to  Tommy  in  a brown 
paper  wrapping,  and  when  it  lay  revealed  as  an  aging 
volume  of  Mamma’s  Boy,  a magazine  for  the  Home, 
nothing  could  have  looked  more  harmless.  But,  ah, 
you  never  know.  Hungrily  Tommy  ran  his  eye  through 
the  bill  of  fare  for  something  choice  to  begin  with, 
and  he  found  it.  “The  Boy  Pirate”  it  was  called. 
Never  could  have  been  fairer  promise,  and  down  he 
sat  confidently. 

It  was  a paper  on  the  boys  who  have  been  undone 
by  reading  pernicious  fiction.  It  gave  their  names,  and 
the  number  of  pistols  they  had  bought,  and  what  the 
judge  said  when  he  pronounced  sentence.  It  counted 
the  sensational  tales  found  beneath  the  bed,  and  de- 
scribed the  desolation  of  the  mothers  and  sisters.  It  told 
the  color  of  the  father’s  hair  before  and  afterwards. 

Tommy  flung  the  thing  from  him,  picked  it  up  again, 
and  read  on  uneasily,  and  when  at  last  he  rose  he  was 
shrinking  from  himself.  In  hopes  that  he  might  sleep 
it  off  he  went  early  to  bed,  but  his  contrition  was  still 
with  him  in  the  morning.  Then  Elspeth  was  shown  the 


A PENNY  PASS-BOOK 


303 


article  which  had  saved  him,  and  she,  too,  shuddered  at 
what  she  had  been,  though  her  remorse  was  but  a poor 
display  beside  his,  he  was  so  much  better  at  everything 
than  Elspeth.  Tommy’s  distress  of  mind  was  so  genuine 
and  so  keen  that  it  had  several  hours’  start  of  his  admi- 
ration of  it ; and  it  was  still  sincere,  though  he  himself 
had  become  gloomy,  when  he  told  his  followers  that 
they  were  no  more.  Grizel  heard  his  tale  with  disdain, 
and  said  she  hated  Miss  Ailie  for  giving  him  the  silly 
book,  but  he  reproved  these  unchristian  sentiments, 
while  admitting  that  Miss  Ailie  had  played  on  him  a 
scurvy  trick. 

“ But  you  ’re  glad  you ’ve  repented,  Tommy,”  Elspeth 
reminded  him,  anxiously. 

“ Ay,  I ’m  glad,”  he  answered,  without  heartiness. 

“ Well,  gin  you  repent  I’ll  repent  too,”  said  Corp, 
always  ready  to  accept  Tommy  without  question. 

“ You  ’ll  be  happier,”  replied  Tommy,  sourly. 

“ Ay,  to  be  good ’s  the  great  thing,”  Corp  growled ; 
“but,  Tommy,  could  we  no  have  just  one  michty  blatter, 
methinks,  to  end  up  wi’?” 

This,  of  course,  could  not  be,  and  Saturday  forenoon 
found  Tommy  wandering  the  streets  listlessly,  very 
happy,  you  know,  but  inclined  to  kick  at  any  one  who 
came  near,  such,  for  instance,  as  the  stranger  who  asked 
him  in  the  square  if  he  could  point  out  the  abode  of 
Miss  Ailie  Cray. 

Tommy  led  the  way,  casting  some  converted  looks  at 


304 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


the  gentleman,  and  judging  him  to  be  the  mysterious 
unknown  in  whom  the  late  Captain  Stroke  had  taken 
such  a reprehensible  interest.  He  was  a stout,  red-faced 
man,  stepping  firmly  into  the  fifties,  with  a beard  that 
even  the  most  converted  must  envy,  and  a frown  sat  on 
his  brows  all  the  way,  proving  him  possibly  ill-tempered, 
but  also  one  of  the  notable  few  who  can  think  hard 
about  one  thing  for  at  least  five  consecutive  minutes. 
Many  took  a glint  at  him  as  he  passed,  but  missed  the 
frown,  they  were  wondering  so  much  why  the  fur  of  his 
heavy  top-coat  was  on  the  inside,  where  it  made  little 
show,  save  at  blasty  corners. 

Miss  Ailie  was  in  her  parlor,  trying  to  give  her  mind 
to  a blue  and  white  note-book,  but  when  she  saw  who 
was  coming  up  the  garden  she  dropped  the  little  volume 
and  tottered  to  her  bedroom.  She  was  there  when  Ga- 
vinia  came  up  to  announce  that  she  had  shown  a gentle- 
man into  the  blue-and-white  room,  who  gave  the  name 
of  Ivie  McLean.  “Tell  him  — I shall  come  down  — 
presently,”  gasped  Miss  Ailie,  and  then  Gavinia  was 
sure  this  was  the  man  who  was  making  her  mistress 
so  unhappy. 

“ She ’s  so  easily  flichtered  now,”  Gavinia  told  Tommy 
in  the  kitchen,  “that  for  fear  o’  starting  her  I never 
whistle  at  my  work  without  telling  her  I ’m  to  do  ’t,  and 
if  I fall  on  the  stair,  my  first  thought  is  to  jump  up  and 
cry,  ‘It  was  just  me  tum’ling.’  And  now  I believe  this 
brute  ’ll  be  the  death  o’  her.” 


A PEKNY  PASS-BOOK 


305 


"But  what  can  he  do  to  her  ?” 

" I dinna  ken,  but  she ’s  greeting  sair,  and  yon  can 
hear  how  he’s  rampaging  up  and  down  the  blue-and- 
white  room.  Listen  to  his  thrawn  feet ! He  *s  raging 
because  she ’s  so  long  in  coming  down,  and  come  she 
daurna.  Oh,  the  poor  crittur!” 

Now,  Tommy  was  very  fond  of  his  old  school-mistress, 
and  he  began  to  be  unhappy  with  Gavinia. 

" She  hasna  a man-body  in  the  world  to  take  care  o’ 
her,”  sobbed  the  girl. 

" Has  she  no  ? ” cried  Tommy,  fiercely,  and  under  one 
of  the  impulses  that  so  easily  mastered  him  he  marched 
into  the  blue-and- white  room. 

"Well,  my  young  friend,  and  what  may  you  want?” 
asked  Mr.  McLean,  impatiently. 

Tommy  sat  down  and  folded  his  arms.  "I’m  going 
to  sit  here  and  see  what  you  do  to  Miss  Ailie,”  he  said, 
determinedly. 

Mr.  McLean  said  " Oh ! ” and  then  seemed  favorably 
impressed,  for  he  added  quietly:  "She  is  a friend  of 
yours,  is  she?  Well,  I have  no  intention  of  hurting 
her.” 

"You  had  better  no,”  replied  Tommy,  stoutly. 

" Did  she  send  you  here  ? ” 

"No;  I came  mysel’.” 

" To  protect  her  ? ” 

There  was  the  irony  in  it  that  so  puts  up  a boy’s 
dander.  "Dinna  think,”  said  Tommy,  hotly,  "that  I ’m 

20 


306 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


fleid  at  you,  though  I have  no  beard  — at  least,  I hinna 
it  wi ’ me.” 

At  this  unexpected  conclusion  a smile  crossed  Mr.  Mc- 
Lean’s face,  but  was  gone  in  an  instant.  “ I wish  you 
had  laughed,”  said  Tommy,  on  the  watch ; “ once  a body 
laughs  he  canna  be  angry  no  more,”  which  was  pretty 
good  even  for  Tommy.  It  made  Mr.  McLean  ask  him 
why  he  was  so  fond  of  Miss  Ailie. 

“ I ’m  the  only  man-body  she  has,”  he  answered. 

“ Oh  ? But  why  are  you  her  man-body  ? ” 

The  boy  could  think  of  no  better  reason  than  this : 
“Because  — because  she’s  so  sair  in  need  o’  ane.” 
(There  were  moments  when  one  liked  Tommy.) 

Mr.  McLean  turned  to  the  window,  and  perhaps  for- 
got that  he  was  not  alone.  “ Well,  what  are  you  think- 
ing about  so  deeply  ? ” he  asked  by  and  by. 

“ I was  trying  to  think  o’  something  that  would  gar 
you  laugh,”  answered  Tommy,  very  earnestly,  and  was 
surprised  to  see  that  he  had  nearly  done  it. 

The  blue  and  white  note-book  was  lying  on  the  floor 
where  Miss  Ailie  had  dropped  it.  Often  in  Tommy’s 
presence  she  had  consulted  this  work,  and  certainly  its 
effect  on  her  was  the  reverse  of  laughter ; but  once  he 
had  seen  Dr.  McQueen  pick  it  up  and  roar  over  every 
page.  With  an  inspiration  Tommy  handed  the  book 
to  Mr.  McLean.  “It  made  the  doctor  laugh,”  he  said 
persuasively. 

“Go  away,”  said  Ivie,  impatiently;  “I  am  in  no 
mood  for  laughing.” 


A PENNY  PASS-BOOK 


307 


1 tell  you  what,”  answered  Tommy,  “ I *11  go,  if 
you  promise  to  look  at  it,”  and  to  be  rid  of  him  the 
man  agreed.  For  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  Tommy 
and  Gavinia  were  very  near  the  door  of  the  blue-and- 
white  room,  Tommy  whispering  dejectedly,  “I  hear  no 
laughing,”  and  Gavinia  replying,  “But  he  has  quieted 
down.” 

Mr.  McLean  had  a right  to  be  very  angry,  but  God 
only  can  say  whether  he  had  a right  to  be  as  angry  as  he 
was.  The  book  had  been  handed  to  him  open,  and  he 
was  laying  it  down  unread  when  a word  underlined 
caught  his  eye.  It  was  his  own  name.  Nothing  in  all 
literature  arrests  our  attention  quite  so  much  as  that. 
He  sat  down  to  the  book.  It  was  just  about  this  time 
that  Miss  Ailie  went  on  her  knees  to  pray. 

It  was  only  a penny  pass-book.  On  its  blue  cover  had 
been  pasted  a slip  of  white  paper,  and  on  the  paper  was 
written,  in  blue  ink,  “ Alison  Cray,”  with  a date  nearly 
nine  years  old.  The  contents  were  in  Miss  Ailie’s  prim 
handwriting ; jottings  for  her  own  use  begun  about  the 
time  when  the  sisters,  trembling  at  their  audacity,  had 
opened  school,  and  consulted  and  added  to  fitfully  ever 
since.  Hours  must  have  been  spent  in  erasing  the  blots 
and  other  blemishes  so  carefully.  The  tiny  volume  was 
not  yet  full,  and  between  its  two  last  written  pages  lay 
a piece  of  blue  blotting-paper  neatly  cut  to  the  size  of 
the  leaf. 

Some  of  these  notes  were  transcripts  from  books,  some 


308 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


contained  the  advice  of  friends,  others  were  doubtless 
the  result  of  talks  with  Miss  Kitty  (from  whom  there 
were  signs  that  the  work  had  been  kept  a secret),  many 
were  Miss  Ailie’s  own.  An  entry  of  this  kind  was 
frequent:  “If  you  are  uncertain  of  the  answer  to  a 
question  in  arithmetic,  it  is  advisable  to  leave  the  room 
on  some  pretext  and  work  out  the  sum  swiftly  in  the 
passage.”  Various  pretexts  were  suggested,  and  this 
one  (which  had  an  insufficient  line  through  it)  had  been 
inserted  by  Dr.  McQueen  on  that  day  when  Tommy  saw 
him  chuckling,  “ You  pretend  that  your  nose  is  bleeding, 
and  putting  your  handkerchief  to  it,  retire  hastily,  the 
supposition  being  that  you  have  gone  to  put  the  key  of 
the  blue-and-white  room  down  your  back.”  Evidently 
these  small  deceptions  troubled  Miss  Ailie,  for  she  had 
written,  “Such  subterfuge  is,  I hope,  pardonable,  the 
object  being  the  maintenance  of  scholastic  discipline.” 
On  another  page,  where  the  arithmetic  was  again  troub- 
ling her,  this  appeared : “ If  Kitty  were  aware  that  the 
squealing  of  the  slate-pencils  gave  me  such  headaches, 
she  would  insist  on  again  taking  the  arithmetic  class, 
though  it  always  makes  her  ill.  Surely,  then,  I am 
justified  in  saying  that  the  sound  does  not  distress  me.” 
To  this  the  doctor  had  added,  “You  are  a brick.” 
There  were  two  pages  headed  Never,  which  men- 
tioned ten  things  that  Miss  Ailie  must  never  do ; among 
them,  “ Never  let  the  big  boys  know  you  are  afraid  of 
them.  To  awe  them,  stamp  with  the  foot,  speak  in  a 


A PENNY  PASS-BOOK 


309 


loud  ferocious  voice,  and  look  them  unflinchingly  in  the 
face.” 

“ Punishments  ” was  another  heading,  but  she  had 
written  it  small,  as  if  to  prevent  herself  seeing  it  each 
time  she  opened  the  book.  Obviously  her  hope  had 
been  to  dispose  of  Punishment  in  a few  lines,  but  it 
would  have  none  of  that,  and  Mr.  McLean  found  it 
stalking  from  page  to  page.  Miss  Ailie  favored  the 
cane  in  preference  to  tawse,  which,  “ often  flap  round 
your  neck  as  you  are  about  to  bring  them  down.”  Ex- 
cept in  desperate  cases  “ it  will  probably  be  found  suf- 
ficient to  order  the  offender  to  bring  the  cane  to  you.” 
Then  followed  a note  about  rubbing  the  culprit’s  hand 
“ with  sweet  butter  or  dripping  ” should  you  have  struck 
too  hard. 

Dispiriting  item,  that  on  resuming  his  seat  the  chas- 
tised one  is  a hero  to  his  fellows  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
Item,  that  Master  John  James  Eattray  knows  she  hurts 
her  own  hand  more  than  his.  Item,  that  John  James 
promised  to  be  good  throughout  the  session  if  she  would 
let  him  thrash  the  bad  ones.  Item,  that  Master  T. 
Sandys,  himself  under  correction,  explained  to  her  (the 
artistic  instinct  again)  how  to  give  the  cane  a waggle 
when  descending,  which  would  double  its  nip.  Item, 
that  Elsie  Dundas  offered  to  receive  Francie  Crabb’s 
punishment  for  two  snaps.  Item,  that  Master  Gavin 
Dishart,  for  what  he  considered  the  honor  of  his  school, 
though  aware  be  was  imperilling  his  soul,  fought  Hendry 


310 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Dickie  of  Cathro’s  for  saying  Miss  Ailie  could  not  draw 
blood  with  one  stroke. 

The  effect  on  Miss  Ailie  of  these  mortifying  discov- 
eries could  be  read  in  the  paragraph  headed  A Mother’s 
Method,  which  was  copied  from  a newspaper.  Mrs. 

E , it  seems,  was  the  mother  of  four  boys  (residing 

at  D ),  and  she  subjected  them  frequently  to  cor- 

poral chastisement  without  permanent  spiritual  result 

Mrs.  E , by  the  advice  of  another  lady,  Mrs.  K 

(mother  of  six),  then  had  recourse  to  the  following  inter- 
esting experiment.  Instead  of  punishing  her  children 
physically  when  they  misbehaved,  she  now  in  their  pres- 
ence wounded  herself  by  striking  her  left  hand  severely 
with  a ruler  held  in  the  right.  Soon  their  better  natures 
were  touched,  and  the  four  implored  her  to  desist,  prom- 
ising with  tears  never  to  offend  again.  From  that  hour 
Mrs.  E had  little  trouble  with  her  boys. 

It  was  recorded  in  the  blue  and  white  book  how  Miss 
Ailie  gave  this  plan  a fair  trial,  but  her  boys  must  have 

been  darker  characters  than  Mrs.  E ’s,  for  it  merely 

set  them  to  watching  each  other,  so  that  they  might  cry 
out,  “ Pandy  yourself  quick,  Miss  Ailie ; Gavin  Dishart ’s 
drawing  the  devil  on  his  slate.”  Nevertheless,  when 
Miss  Ailie  announced  a return  to  more  conventional 
methods,  Francie  was  put  up  (with  threats)  to  say  that 
he  suffered  agonies  of  remorse  every  time  she  pandied 
herself  for  him,  but  the  thing  had  been  organized  in  a 
hurry  and  Francie  was  insufficiently  primed,  and  on 


A PENNY  PASS-BOOK 


311 


cross-examination  he  let  out  that  he  thought  remorse 
was  a swelling  of  the  hands. 

Miss  Ailie  was  very  humble-minded,  and  her  entries 
under  The  Teacher  Taught  were  all  admonitions  for 
herself.  Thus  she  chided  herself  for  cowardice  because 
“ Delicate  private  reasons  have  made  me  avoid  all  men- 
tion of  India  in  the  geography  classes.  Kitty  says  quite 

calmly  that  this  is  fair  neither  to  our  pupils  nor  to  I 

M . The  courage  of  Kitty  in  this  matter  is  a con- 

stant rebuke  to  me.”  Except  on  a few  occasions  Mr. 

McLean  found  that  he  was  always  referred  to  as  I 

M . 

Quite  early  in  the  volume  Miss  Ailie  knew  that  her 
sister’s  hold  on  life  was  loosening.  “How  bright  the 
world  suddenly  seems,”  Mr.  McLean  read,  “ when  there 
is  the  tiniest  improvement  in  the  health  of  an  invalid 
one  loves.”  Is  it  laughable  that  such  a note  as  this  is 
appended  to  a recipe  for  beef-tea?  “It  is  surely  not 
very  wicked  to  pretend  to  Kitty  that  I keep  some  of  it 
for  myself ; she  would  not  take  it  all  if  she  knew  I dined 
on  the  beef  it  was  made  from.”  Other  entries  showed 
too  plainly  that  Miss  Ailie  stinted  herself  of  food  to  pro- 
vide delicacies  for  Miss  Kitty.  No  doubt  her  expenses 
were  alarming  her  when  she  wrote  this : “ An  interest- 
ing article  in  the  Mentor  says  that  nearly  all  of  us  eat 
and  drink  too  much.  Were  we  to  mortify  our  stomachs 
we  should  be  healthier  animals  and  more  capable  of  sus- 
tained thought.  The  word  animal  in  this  connection  is 


312 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


coarse,  but  the  article  is  most  impressive,  and  a crushing 
reply  to  Dr.  McQueen’s  assertion  that  the  editor  drinks. 
In  the  school-room  I have  frequently  found  my  thoughts 
of  late  wandering  from  classwork,  and  I hastily  ascribed 
it  to  sitting  up  during  the  night  with  Kitty  or  to  my 
habit  of  listening  lest  she  should  be  calling  for  me. 
Probably  I had  over-eaten,  and  I must  mortify  the 
stomach.  A glass  of  hot  water  with  half  a spoonful  of 
sugar  in  it  is  highly  recommended  as  a light  supper.” 

“ How  long  ago  it  may  seem  since  yesterday ! ” Do 
you  need  to  be  told  on  what  dark  day  Miss  Ailie  discov- 
ered that  ? “ I used  to  pray  that  I should  be  taken  first, 
but  I was  both  impious  and  selfish,  for  how  could  fragile 
Kitty  have  fought  on  alone  ? ” 

In  time  happiness  again  returned  to  Miss  Ailie;  of  all 
our  friends  it  is  the  one  most  reluctant  to  leave  us  on 
this  side  of  the  grave.  It  came  at  first  disguised,  in  the 
form  of  duties,  old  and  new  ; and  stealthily,  when  Miss 
Ailie  was  not  looking,  it  mixed  with  the  small  worries 
and  joys  that  had  been  events  while  Miss  Kitty  lived, 
and  these  it  converted  once  more  into  events,  where 
Miss  Ailie  found  it  lurking,  and  at  first  she  would  not 
take  it  back  to  her  heart,  but  it  crept  in  without  her 

knowing.  And  still  there  were  I M- ’s  letters. 

“ They  are  all  I have  to  look  forward  to,”  she  wrote  in 

self-defence.  “I  shall  never  write  to  I M 

again,”  was  another  entry,  but  Mr.  McLean  found  on  the 
same  page,  “ I have  written  to  I M , but  do  not 


A PENNY  PASS-BOOK 


813 


intend  posting  it,”  and  beneath  that  was,  “ God  forgive 
me,  I have  posted  it.” 

The  troubles  with  arithmetic  were  becoming  more 
terrible.  “I  am  never  really  sure  about  the  decimals,” 
she  wrote. 

A Professor  of  Memory  had  appeared  at  the  Muckley, 
and  Miss  Ailie  admits  having  given  him  half-a-crown 
to  explain  his  system  to  her.  But  when  he  was  gone 
she  could  not  remember  whether  you  multiplied  every- 
thing by  ten  before  dividing  by  five  and  subtracting  a 
hundred,  or  began  by  dividing  and  doing  something 
underhand  with  the  cube  root.  Then  Mr.  Dishart,  who 
had  a microscope,  wanted  his  boy  to  be  taught  science, 
and  several  experiments  were  described  at  length  in  the 
book,  one  of  them  dealing  with  a penny,  H , and  a 
piston,  X Y}  and  you  do  things  to  the  piston  “ and  then 
the  penny  comes  to  the  surface.”  “But  it  never  does,” 
Miss  Ailie  wrote  sorrowfully;  perhaps  she  was  glad 
when  Master  Dishart  was  sent  to  another  school. 

“ Though  I teach  the  girls  the  pianoforte  I find  that 
I cannot  stretch  my  fingers  as  I used  to  do.  Kitty  used 
to  take  the  music,  and  I often  remember  this  suddenly 
when  superintending  a lesson.  It  is  a pain  to  me  that 
so  many  wish  to  acquire  ‘ The  Land  o’  the  Leal/  which 
Kitty  sang  so  often  to  I M at  Magenta  Cottage. 

Even  the  French,  of  which  Miss  Ailie  had  once  been 
very  proud,  was  slipping  from  her.  “Kitty  and  I kept 
up  our  French  by  translating  I M ’s  letters  and 


314 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


comparing  our  versions,  but  now  that  this  stimulus  is 
taken  away  I find  that  I am  forgetting  my  French.  Or 
is  it  only  that  I am  growing  old  ? too  old  to  keep 
school  ? ” This  dread  was  beginning  to  haunt  Miss 
Ailie,  and  the  pages  between  which  the  blotting-paper 
lay  revealed  that  she  had  written  to  the  editor  of  the 
Mentor  asking  up  to  what  age  he  thought  a needy 
gentlewoman  had  a right  to  teach.  The  answer  was 
not  given,  but  her  comment  on  it  told  everything.  “ I 
asked  him  to  be  severely  truthful,  so  that  I cannot 
resent  his  reply.  But  if  I take  his  advice,  how  am  I 
to  live  ? And  if  I do  not  take  it,  I fear  I am  but  a 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  true  education.” 

That  is  a summary  of  what  Mr.  McLean  read  in  the 
blue  and  white  book ; remember,  you  were  warned  not 
to  expect  much.  And  Tommy  and  Gavinia  listened, 
and  Tommy  said,  “I  hear  no  laughing,”  and  Gavinia 
answered,  “But  he  has  quieted  down,”  and  upstairs 
Miss  Ailie  was  on  her  knees.  A time  came  when  Mr. 
McLean  could  find  something  to  laugh  at  in  that  little 
pass-book,  but  it  was  not  then,  not  even  when  he 
reached  the  end.  He  left  something  on  the  last  page 
instead.  At  least  I think  it  must  have  been  he:  Miss 
Ailie’s  tears  could  not  have  been  so  long  a-drying. 

You  may  rise,  now,  Miss  Ailie;  your  prayer  is 
granted. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


TOMMY  REPENTS,  AND  IS  NONE  THE  WORSE  FOR  IT 

Mr.  McLean  wrote  a few  reassuring  words  to  Miss 
Ailie,  and  having  told  Gavinia  to  give  the  note  to  her 
walked  quietly  out  of  the  house;  he  was  coming  back 
after  he  had  visited  Miss  Kitty’s  grave.  Gavinia, 
however,  did  not  knew  this,  and  having  delivered  the 
note  she  returned  dolefully  to  the  kitchen  to  say  to 
Tommy,  “His  letter  maun  have  been  as  thraun  as  him- 
sel’,  for  as  soon  as  she  read  it,  down  she  plumped  on 
her  knees  again.” 

But  Tommy  was  not  in  the  kitchen;  he  was  on  the 
garden-wall  watching  Miss  Ailie’s  persecutor. 

“Would  it  no  be  easier  to  watch  him  frae  the  gate  ?” 
suggested  Gavinia,  who  had  not  the  true  detective 
instinct. 

Tommy  disregarded  her  womanlike  question;  a great 
change  had  come  over  him  since  she  went  upstairs;  his 
head  now  wobbled  on  his  shoulders  like  a little  balloon 
that  wanted  to  cut  its  connection  with  earth  and  soar. 

“ What  makes  you  look  so  queer  ? ” cried  the  startled 
maid.  “ I thought  you  was  converted.” 


316 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ So  I am,”  he  shouted,  “ I ’m  more  converted  than 
ever,  and  yet  I can  do  it  just  the  same ! Gavinia,  I ’ve 
found  a wy!” 

He  was  hurrying  off  on  Mr.  McLean’s  trail,  but 
turned  to  say,  “ Gavinia,  do  you  ken  wha  that  man 
is?” 

“Ower  weel  I ken,”  she  answered,  “it's  Mr. 
McLean.” 

“ McLean!”  he  echoed  scornfully,  “ay,  I ’ve  heard 
that  ’s  one  of  the  names  he  goes  by,  but  hearken,  and 
I ’ll  tell  you  wha  he  really  is.  That  ’s  the  scoundrel 
Stroke  I ” 

No  wonder  Gavinia  was  flabbergasted,  “Wha  are 
you  then  ? ” she  cried, 

“I’m  the  Champion  of  Dames,”  he  replied  loftily, 
and  before  she  had  recovered  from  this  he  was  stalking 
Mr.  McLean  in  the  cemetery. 

Miss  Kitty  sleeps  in  a beautiful  hollow  called  the 
Basin,  but  the  stone  put  up  to  her  memory  hardly 
marks  the  spot  now,  for  with  a score  of  others  it  was 
blown  on  its  face  by  the  wind  that  uprooted  so  many 
trees  in  the  Den,  and  as  it  fell  it  lies.  From  the  Basin 
to  the  rough  road  that  clings  like  a belt  to  the  round 
cemetery  dyke  is  little  more  than  a jump,  and  shortly 
after  Miss  Kitty’s  grave  had  been  pointed  out  to  him, 
Mr.  McLean  was  seen  standing  there  hat  in  hand  by  a 
man  on  the  road.  This  man  was  Dr.  McQueen  hobbling 
home  from  the  Forest  Muir;  he  did  not  hobble  as  a 


CROUCHED  BEHIND  HAGGARDS  STONE 


TOMMY  BEPENTS 


317 


rule,  but  hobble  everyone  must  on  that  misshapen  brae, 
except  Murdoch  Gelatley,  who,  being  short  in  one  leg 
elsewhere,  is  here  the  only  straight  man.  McQueen’s 
sharp  eyes,  however,  picked  out  not  only  the  stranger 
but  Tommy  crouching  behind  Haggart’s  stone,  and  him 
did  the  doctor’s  famous  crook  staff  catch  in  the  neck 
and  whisk  across  the  dyke. 

“ What  man  is  that  you  ’re  watching,  you  mysterious 
loon?”  McQueen  demanded,  curiously;  but  of  course 
Tommy  would  not  divulge  so  big  a secret.  Now  the 
one  weakness  of  this  large-hearted  old  bachelor  (per- 
haps it  is  a professional  virtue)  was  a devouring  inquisi- 
tiveness, and  he  would  be  troubled  until  he  discovered 
who  was  the  stranger  standing  in  such  obvious  emotion 
by  the  side  of  an  old  grave.  “Well,  you  must  come 
back  with  me  to  the  surgery,  for  I want  you  to  run  an 
errand  for  me,”  he  said  testily,  hoping  to  pump  the 
boy  by  the  way,  but  Tommy  dived  beneath  his  stick 
and  escaped.  This  rasped  the  doctor’s  temper,  which 
was  unfortunate  for  Grizel,  whom  he  caught  presently 
peeping  in  at  his  surgery  window.  A dozen  times  of 
late  she  had  wondered  whether  she  should  ask  him  to 
visit  her  mamma,  and  though  the  Painted  Lady  had 
screamed  in  terror  at  the  proposal,  being  afraid  of 
doctors,  Grizel  would  have  ventured  ere  now,  had  it  not 
been  for  her  mistaken  conviction  that  he  was  a hard 
itian,  who  would  only  flout  her.  It  had  once  come  to 
her  ears  that  he  had  said  a woman  like  her  mamma 


318 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


could  demoralize  a whole  town,  with  other  harsh 
remarks,  doubtless  exaggerated  in  the  repetition,  and 
so  he  was  the  last  man  she  dared  think  of  going  to  for 
help,  when  he  should  have  been  the  first.  Nevertheless 
she  had  come  now,  and  a soft  word  from  him,  such  as 
he  gave  most  readily  to  all  who  were  in  distress,  would 
have  drawn  her  pitiful  tale  from  her,  but  he  was  in  a 
grumpy  mood,  and  had  heard  none  of  the  rumors  about 
her  mother’s  being  ill,  which  indeed  were  only  common 
among  the  Monypenny  children,  and  his  first  words 
checked  her  confidences.  “ What  are  you  hanging  about 
my  open  window  for  ? ” he  cried  sharply. 

“ Did  you  think  I wanted  to  steal  anything  ? ” replied 
the  indignant  child. 

“I  won’t  say  but  what  I had  some  such  thait.” 

She  turned  to  leave  him,  but  he  hooked  her  with  his 
staff.  “As  you’re  here,”  he  said,  “will  you  go  an 
errand  for  me  ? ” 

“No,”  she  told  him  promptly;  “I  don’t  like  you.” 
“There ’s  no  love  lost  between  us,”  he  replied,  “for 
I think  you ’re  the  dourest  lassie  I ever  clapped  eyes 
on,  but  there ’s  no  other  litlin  handy,  so  you  must  do  as 
you  are  bid,  and  take  this  bottle  to  Ballingall’s.” 

“ Is  it  a medicine  bottle  ? ” she  asked,  with  sudden 
interest. 

“ Yes,  it ’s  medicine.  Do  you  know  Ballingall’s 
house  in  the  West  town  end?” 

“Ballingall  who  has  the  little  school  ?” 


TOMMY  REPENTS 


319 


“The  same,  but  I doubt  he  ’ll  keep  school  no  longer.” 

“ Is  he  dying  ? ” 

“ I ?m  afraid  there ’s  no  doubt  of  it.  Will  you 
go?” 

“I  should  love  to  go,”  she  cried. 

“ Love ! ” he  echoed,  looking  at  her  with  displeasure. 
“You  can’t  love  to  go,  so  talk  no  more  nonsense,  but 
go,  and  I ’ll  give  you  a bawbee.” 

“I  don’t  want  a bawbee,”  she  said.  “Do  you  think 
they  will  let  me  go  in  to  see  Ballingall  ? ” 

The  doctor  frowned.  “What  makes  you  want  to  see 
a dying  man  ? ” he  demanded. 

“ I should  just  love  to  see  him ! ” she  exclaimed,  and 
she  added  determinedly,  “I  won’t  give  up  the  bottle 
until  they  let  me  in.” 

He  thought  her  an  unpleasant,  morbid  girl,  but  “that 
is  no  affair  of  mine,”  he  said  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
and  he  gave  her  the  bottle  to  deliver.  Before  taking  it 
to  Ballingall’s,  however,  she  committed  a little  crime. 
She  bought  an  empty  bottle  at  the  ’Sosh,  and  poured 
into  it  some  of  the  contents  of  the  medicine  bottle, 
which  she  then  filled  up  with  water.  She  dared  try  no 
other  way  now  of  getting  medicine  for  her  mother,  and 
was  too  ignorant  to  know  that  there  are  different  drugs 
for  different  ailments. 

Grizel  not  only  contrived  to  get  in  to  see  Ballingall 
but  stayed  by  his  side  for  several  hours,  and  when  she 
♦same  out  it  was  night-time.  On  her  way  home  she  saw 


320 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


a light  moving  in  the  Den,  where  she  had  expected  to 
play  no  more,  and  she  could  not  prevent  her  legs  from 
running  joyously  toward  it.  So  when  Corp,  rising  out  of 
the  darkness,  deftly  cut  her  throat,  she  was  not  so 
angry  as  she  should  have  been. 

“I ’m  so  glad  we  are  to  play  again,  after  all,  Corp,” 
she  said;  but  he  replied  grandly,  “Thou  little  kennest 
wha  you  ’re  speaking  to,  my  gentle  jade.” 

He  gave  a curious  hitch  to  his  breeches,  but  it  only 
puzzled  her.  “ I wear  gallowses  no  more,”  he  explained, 
lifting  his  waistcoat  to  show  that  his  braces  now 
encircled  him  as  a belt,  but  even  then  she  did  not 
understand.  “Know,  then,”  said  Corp,  sternly,  “lam 
Ben  the  Boatswain.” 

“ And  am  I not  the  Lady  Griselda  any  more  ? ” she 
asked. 

“I’m  no  sure,”  he  confessed;  “but  if  you  are,  there 's 
a price  on  your  head.” 

“ What  is  Tommy  ? ” 

“ I dinna  ken  yet,  but  Gavinia  says  he  telled  her  he ’s 
Champion  of  Damns.  I kenna  what  Elspeth  ’ll  say  to 
that.” 

Grizel  was  starting  for  the  Lair,  but  he  caught  her 
by  the  skirt. 

“Is  he  not  at  the  Lair  ?”  she  inquired. 

“We  knowest  it  not,”  he  answered  gravely.  “ We’re 
looking  for’t,”  he  added  with  some  awe;  “we’ve  been 
looking  for ’t  this  three  year.”  Then,  in  a louder  voiue, 


TOMMY  BEPENTS 


321 


u If  you  can  guide  us  to  it,  my  pretty  trifle,  you  *11  be 
richly  rewarded.” 

“But  where  is  he  ? Don’t  you  know  ?” 

“ Fine  I knowest,  but  it  wouldna  be  mous  to  tell  you, 
for  I kenna  whether  you  be  friend  or  foe.  What  ’s  that 
you  ’re  carrying  ? ” 

“It  is  a — a medicine  bottle.” 

“ Gie  me  a sook ! ” 

“No.” 

“Just  one,”  begged  Corp,  “and  1*11  tell  you  where 
he  is.” 

He  got  his  way,  and  smacked  his  lips  unctuously. 

“Now,  where  is  Tommy  ?” 

“Put  your  face  close  to  mine,”  said  Corp,  and  then 
he  whispered  hoarsely,  “ He ’s  in  a spleet  new  Lair, 
writing  out  bills  wi’  a’  his  might,  offering  five  hunder 
crowns  reward  for  Stroke’s  head,  dead  or  alive  ! ” 

The  new  haunt  was  a deserted  house,  that  stood,  very 
damp,  near  a little  waterfall  to  the  east  of  the  Den. 
Bits  of  it  well  planted  in  the  marsh  adhere  doggedly 
together  to  this  day,  but  even  then  the  roof  was  off  and 
the  chimney  lay  in  a heap  on  the  ground,  like  blankets 
that  have  slipped  off  a bed. 

This  was  the  good  ship  Ailie,  lying  at  anchor, 
man-of-war,  thirty  guns,  a cart-wheel  to  steer  it  by, 
T.  Sandys,  commander. 

On  the  following  Saturday,  Ben  the  Boatswain  piped 
21 


322 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


all  hands,  and  Mr.  Sandys  delivered  a speech  of  the 
bluff,  straightforward  kind  that  sailors  love.  Here, 
unfortunately,  it  must  be  condensed.  He  reminded 
them  that  three  years  had  passed  since  their  gracious 
queen  (cheers)  sent  them  into  these  seas  to  hunt  down 
the  Pretender  (hisses).  Their  ship  had  been  christened 
the  Ailie,  because  its  object  was  to  avenge  the  insults 
offered  by  the  Pretender  to  a lady  of  that  name  for 
whom  everyone  of  them  would  willingly  die.  Like  all 
his  race  the  Pretender,  or  Stroke,  as  he  called  himself, 
was  a torment  to  single  women;  he  had  not  only  stolen 
all  this  lady’s  wealth,  but  now  he  wanted  to  make  her 
walk  the  plank,  a way  of  getting  rid  of  enemies  the 
mere  mention  of  which  set  the  blood  of  all  honest  men 
boiling  (cheers).  As  yet  they  had  not  succeeded  in 
finding  Stroke’s  Lair,  though  they  knew  it  to  be  in  one 
of  the  adjoining  islands,  but  they  had  suffered  many 
privations,  twice  their  gallant  vessel  had  been  burned 
to  the  water’s  edge,  once  she  had  been  sunk,  once 
blown  into  the  air,  but  had  that  dismayed  them  ? 

Here  the  Boatswain  sent  round  a whisper,  and  they 
all  cried  loyally,  “Ay,  ay,  sir.” 

He  had  now  news  for  them  that  would  warm  their 
hearts  like  grog.  He  had  not  discovered  the  Lair,  but 
he  had  seen  Stroke,  he  had  spoken  to  him!  Disguised 
as  a boy  he  had  tracked  the  Jacobite  and  found  him 
skulking  in  the  house  of  the  unhappy  Ailie.  After 
blustering  for  a little  Stroke  had  gone  on  his  knees  and 


TOMMY  REPENTS 


323 


offered  not  only  to  cease  persecuting  this  lady  but  to 
return  to  France.  Mr.  Sandys  had  kicked  him  into  a 
standing  posture  and  then  left  him.  But  this  clemency 
had  been  ill  repaid.  Stroke  had  not  returned  to  France. 
He  was  staying  at  the  Quharity  Arms,  a Thrums  inn, 
where  he  called  himself  McLean.  It  had  gone  through 
the  town  like  wildfire  that  he  had  written  to  someone 
in  Bedlintie  to  send  him  on  another  suit  of  clothes  and 
four  dickies.  No  one  suspected  his  real  character,  but 
all  noted  that  he  went  to  the  unhappy  Ailie’s  house 
daily,  and  there  was  a town  about  it.  Ailie  was  but 
a woman,  and  women  could  not  defend  themselves 
“ (Boatswain,  put  Grizel  in  irons  if  she  opens  her 
mouth)  f”  and  so  the  poor  thing  had  been  forced  to 
speak  to  him,  and  even  to  go  walks  with  him.  Her 
life  was  in  danger,  and  before  now  Mr.  Sandys  would 
have  taken  him  prisoner,  but  the  queen  had  said  these 
words,  “Noble  Sandys,  destroy  the  Lair,”  and  the  best 
way  to  discover  this  horrid  spot  was  to  follow  Stroke 
night  and  day  until  he  went  to  it.  Then  they  would 
burn  it  to  the  ground,  put  him  on  board  the  Ailie,  up 
with  the  jib-boom  sail,  and  away  to  the  Tower  of 
London. 

At  the  words  “Tower  of  London,”  Ben  cried  “Tumble 
up  there!  ” which  was  the  signal  for  three  such  ringing 
cheers  as  only  British  tars  are  capable  of.  Three  ? . To 
be  exact  only  two  and  a half,  for  the  third  stopped  in 
the  middle,  as  if  the  lid  had  suddenly  been  put  on. 


324 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


What  so  startled  them  was  the  unexpected  appearance 
in  their  midst  of  the  very  man  Tommy  had  been  talking 
of.  Taking  a stroll  through  the  Den,  Mr.  McLean  had 
been  drawn  toward  the  ruin  by  the  first  cheers,  and  had 
arrived  in  time  to  learn  who  and  what  he  really  was. 

“ Stroke ! ” gasped  one  small  voice. 

The  presumptuous  man  folded  his  arms.  “So,  San- 
dy s,”  he  said,  in  hollow  tones,  “we  meet  again!” 
Even  Grizel  got  behind  Tommy,  and  perhaps  it  was 
this  that  gave  him  spunk  to  say  tremulously,  “ Wh-what 
are  you  doing  her  ? ” 

“I  have  come,”  replied  the  ruddy  Pretender,  “to 
defy  you,  &y,  proud  Sandy s,  to  challenge  thee  to  the 
deed  thou  pratest  of.  I go  from  here  to  my  Lair. 
Follow  me,  if  thou  darest!” 

He  brought  his  hand  down  with  a bang  upon  the 
barrel,  laughed  disdainfully,  and  springing  over  the 
vessel’s  side  was  at  once  lost  in  the  darkness.  Instead 
of  following,  all  stood  transfixed,  gazing  at  the  barrel, 
on  which  lay  five  shillings. 

“He  put  them  there  when  he  slammed  it! ” 

“Losh  behears!  there ’s  a shilling  to  ilka  ane  o’  us.” 
“I  winna  touch  the  siller,”  said  Sandys,  moodily. 
“What?”  cried  Gavinia. 

“I  tell  you  it ’s  a bribe.” 

“Do  you  hear  him?”  screamed  Gavinia.  “He  says 
we  ’re  no  to  lay  hands  on ’t ! Corp,  where  *s  your 
tongue  ? ” 


TOMMY  KEPENTS 


325 


But  even  in  that  trying  moment  Corp’s  trust  in 
Tommy  shone  out  beautiful  and  strong.  “Dinna  be 
feared,  Gavinia,”  he  whispered,  “he’ll  find  a wy.” 

“ Lights  out  and  follow  Stroke ! ” was  the  order,  and 
the  crew  at  once  scattered  in  pursuit,  Mr.  Sandy s 
remaining  behind  a moment  to  — to  put  something  in 
his  pocket. 

Mr.  McLean  gave  them  a long  chase,  walking  demurely 
when  lovers  were  in  sight,  but  at  other  times  doubling, 
jumping,  even  standing  on  eminences  and  crowing 
insultingly,  like  a cock,  and  not  until  he  had  only 
breath  left  to  chuckle  did  the  stout  man  vanish  from 
the  Den.  Elspeth,  now  a cabin-boy,  was  so  shaken  by 
the  realism  of  the  night’s  adventures  that  Gavinia  (able 
seaman)  took  her  home,  and  when  Mr.  Sandys  and  his 
Boatswain  met  at  the  Cuttle  Well  neither  could  tell 
where  Grizel  was. 

“She  had  no  business  to  munt  without  my  leave,” 
Tommy  said  sulkily. 

“No,  she  hadna.  Is  she  the  Lady  Griselda  yet  ?” 

“ Not  her,  she ’s  the  Commander’s  wife.” 

Ben  shook  his  head,  for  this,  he  felt,  was  the  one 
thing  Tommy  could  not  do.  “Well,  then,”  growled 
Tommy,  “ if  she  winna  be  that,  she  ’ll  have  to  serve 
before  the  mast,  for  I tell  you  plain  I ’ll  have  no  single 
women  on  board.” 

“And  what  am  I,  forby  Ben  the  Boatswain  ?” 
“Nothing.  Honest  men  has  just  one  name.” 


326 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“What!  I’m  just  one  single  man?”  Corp  was  a 
little  crestfallen.  “It’s  a come  down,”  he  said,  with 
a sigh,  “mind,  I dinna  grumble,  but  it’s  a come  down.” 
“And  you  dinna  have  4 Methinks  ’ now  either,” 
Tommy  announced  pitilessly. 

Corp  had  dreaded  this.  “ I ’ll  be  gey  an’  lonely 
without  it,”  he  said,  with  some  dignity,  “and  it  was 
the  usefulest  swear  I kent  o’.  4 Methinks! ’ I used  to 

roar  at  Mason  Malcolm’s  collie,  and  the  crittur  came  in 
ahint  in  a swite  o’  fear.  Losh,  Tommy,  is  that  you 
blooding  ? ” 

There  was  indeed  an  ugly  gash  on  Tommy’s  hand. 
“You  ’ve  been  hacking  at  yoursel’  again,”  said  the  dis- 
tressed Corp,  who  knew  that  in  his  enthusiasm  Tommy 
had  more  than  once  drawn  blood  from  himself.  “ When 
you  take  it  a’  so  real  as  that,”  he  said,  uncomfortably 
“I  near  think  we  should  give  it  up.” 

Tommy  stamped  his  foot.  “Take  tent  o’  yoursel’!” 
he  cried  threateningly.  “ When  I was  tracking  Stroke 
I fell  in  with  one  of  his  men,  and  we  had  a tussle.  He 
pinked  me  in  the  hand,  but  ’tis  only  a scratch,  bah! 
He  was  carrying  treasure,  and  I took  it  from  him.” 
Ben  whistled.  “ Five  shillings  ? ” he  asked,  slapping 
his  knee. 

“ How  did  you  know  ? ” demanded  Tommy,  frown- 
ing, and  then  they  tried  to  stare  each  other  down. 

“I  thought  I saw  you  pouching  it,”  Corp  ventured 
to  say. 


TOMMY  REPENTS 


327 


" Boatswain ! ” 

“I  mean,”  explained  Corp  hurriedly,  “I  mean  that 
I tent  you  would  find  a wy.  Didest  thou  kill  the 
Jaoobite  rebel  ?” 

“He  lies  but  a few  paces  off,”  replied  Tommy,  “and 
already  the  vultures  are  picking  his  bones.” 

“So  perish  all  Victoria’s  enemies,”  said  Ben  the 
Boatswain,  loyally,  but  a sudden  fear  made  him  add, 
with  a complete  change  of  voice,  “You  dinna  chance  to 
ken  his  name  ? ” 

“Ay,  I had  marked  him  before,”  answered  Tommy, 
“he  was  called  Corp  of  Corp.” 

Ben  the  Boatswain  rose,  sat  down,  rose  again, 
“Tommy,”  he  said,  wiping  his  brow  with  his  sleeve, 
“come  awa’  hame!” 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


THE  LONGER  CATECHISM 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  McLean  was  walking  slowly  to 
the  Quharity  Arms,  fanning  his  face  with  his  hat,  and 
in  the  West  town  end  he  came  upon  some  boys  who  had 
gathered  with  offensive  cries  round  a girl  in  a lustre 
jacket.  A wave  of  his  stick  put  them  to  flight,  but  the 
girl  only  thanked  him  with  a look,  and  entered  a little 
house  the  window  of  which  showed  a brighter  light 
than  its  neighbors.  Dr.  McQueen  came  out  of  this 
house  a moment  afterwards,  and  as  the  two  men  now 
knew  each  other  slightly,  they  walked  home  together, 
McLean  relating  humorously  how  he  had  spent  the 
evening.  “And  though  Commander  Sandys  means  to 
incarcerate  me  in  the  Tower  of  London,”  he  said,  “he 
did  me  a good  service  the  other  day,  and  I feel  an 
interest  in  him.” 

“ What  did  the  inventive  sacket  do  ? ” the  doctor 
asked  inquisitively;  but  McLean,  who  had  referred  to 
the  incident  of  the  pass-book,  affected  not  to  hear. 
“Miss  Ailie  has  told  me  his  history,”  he  said,  “and 
that  he  goes  to  the  University  next  year.” 

“Or  to  the  herding,”  put  in  McQueen,  dryly. 


THE  LONGER  CATECHISM 


329 


“ Yes,  I heard  that  was  the  alternative,  but  he  should 
easily  carry  a bursary;  he  is  a remarkable  boy.” 

“ Ay,  but  I *m  no  sure  that  it ’s  the  remarkable  boys 
who  carry  the  bursaries.  However,  if  you  have  taken  a 
fancy  to  him  you  should  hear  what  Mr.  Cathro  has  to 
say  on  the  subject;  for  my  own  part  I have  been  more 
taken  up  with  one  of  his  band  lately  than  with  himself 
— a lassie,  too.” 

“ She  who  went  into  that  house  just  before  you  came 
out?” 

“The  same,  and  she  is  the  most  puzzling  bit  of 
womankind  I ever  fell  in  with.” 

“She  looked  an  ordinary  girl  enough,”  said  Mr. 
McLean. 

The  doctor  chuckled.  “Man,”  he  said,  “in  my  time 
I have  met  all  kinds  of  women  except  ordinary  ones. 
What  would  you  think  if  I told  you  that  this  ordinary 
girl  had  been  spending  three  or  four  hours  daily  in  that 
house  entirely  because  there  was  a man  dying  in  it  ?” 

“ Some  one  she  had  an  affection  for  ? ” 

“My  certie,  no!  I*m  afraid  it  is  long  since  anybody 
had  an  affection  for  shilpit,  hirpling,  old  Ballingall, 
and  as  for  this  lassie  Grizel,  she  had  never  spoken  to 
him  until  I sent  her  on  an  errand  to  his  house  a week 
ago.  He  was  a single  man  (like  you  and  me),  without 
womenfolk,  a schoolmaster  of  his  own  making,  and  in 
the  smallest  way,  and  his  one  attraction  to  her  was  that 
he  was  on  his  death-bed.  Most  lassies  of  her  age  skirl 


830 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


to  get  away  from  the  presence  of  death,  but  she  prigged, 
sir,  fairly  prigged,  to  get  into  it!” 

“Ah,  I prefer  less  uncommon  girls,”  McLean  said. 
“They  should  not  have  let  her  have  her  wish;  it  can 
only  do  her  harm.” 

“That  is  another  curious  thing,”  replied  the  doctor. 
“It  does  not  seem  to  have  done  her  harm;  rather  it 
has  turned  her  from  being  a dour,  silent  crittur  into  a 
talkative  one,  and  that,  I take  it,  is  a sign  of  grace.” 

He  sighed,  and  added:  “Not  that  I can  get  her  to 
talk  of  herself  and  her  mother.  (There  is  a mystery 
about  them,  you  understand.)  No,  the  obstinate  brat 
will  tell  me  nothing  on  that  subject;  instead  of  answer- 
ing my  questions  she  asks  questions  of  me  — an  endless 
rush  of  questions,  and  all  about  Ballingall.  How  did 
I know  he  was  dying  ? When  you  put  your  fingers  on 
their  wrist,  what  is  it  you  count  ? which  is  the  place 
where  the  lungs  are  ? when  you  tap  their  chest  what  do 
you  listen  for  ? are  they  not  dying  as  long  as  they  can 
rise  now  and  then,  and  dress  and  go  out  ? when  they 
are  really  dying  do  they  always  know  it  themselves  ? 
If  they  don’t  know  it,  is  that  a sign  that  they  are  not 
so  ill  as  you  think  them  ? When  they  don’t  know  they 
are  dying,  is  it  best  to  keep  it  from  them  in  case  they 
should  scream  with  terror  ? and  so  on  in  a spate  of 
questions,  till  I called  her  the  Longer  Catechism.” 

“ And  only  morbid  curiosity  prompted  her  ? ” 
“Nothing  else,”  said  the  confident  doctor;  “if  there 


THE  LONGER  CATECHISM 


331 


bad  been  anything  else  I should  have  found  it  out,  you 
may  be  sure.  However,  unhealthily  minded  though  she 
be,  the  women  who  took  their  turn  at  BailingalPs 
bedside  were  glad  of  her  help.” 

“The  more  shame  to  them,”  McLean  remarked 
warmly;  but  the  doctor  would  let  no  one,  save  himself, 
miscall  the  women  of  Thrums. 

“Ca*  canny,”  he  retorted.  “The  women  of  this 
place  are  as  overdriven  as  the  men,  from  the  day  they 
have  the  strength  to  turn  a pirn-wheel  to  the  day  they 
crawl  over  their  bed-board  for  the  last  time,  but  never 
yet  have  I said,  * 1 need  one  of  you  to  sit  up  all  night 
wi’  an  unweel  body/  but  what  there  were  half  a dozen 
villing  to  do  it.  They  are  a grand  race,  sir,  and  will 
remain  so  till  they  find  it  out  themselves.” 

“ But  of  what  use  could  a girl  of  twelve  or  fourteen 
be  to  them  ? ” 

“Use!  ” McQueen  cried.  “Man,  she  has  been  simply 
a treasure,  and  but  for  one  thing  I would  believe  it  was 
less  a morbid  mind  than  a sort  of  divine  instinct  for 
nursing  that  took  her  to  BailingalPs  bedside.  The 
women  do  their  best  in  a rough  and  ready  way;  but, 
sir,  it  cowed  to  see  that  lassie  easying  a pillow  for 
BallingalPs  head,  or  changing  a sheet  without  letting 
in  the  air,  or  getting  a poultice  on  his  back  without 
disturbing  the  one  on  his  chest.  I had  just  to  let  her 
see  how  to  do  these  things  once,  and  after  that  Ballingall 
complained  if  any  other  soul  touched  him.” 


332 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Ah,”  said  McLean,  “then  perhaps  I was  unchari 
table,  and  the  nurse’s  instinct  is  the  true  explanation.” 

“No,  you  ’re  wrong  again,  though  I might  have  been 
taken  in  as  well  as  you' but  for  the  one  thing  I spoke 
of.  Three  days  ago  Ballingall  had  a ghost  of  a chance 
of  pulling  through,  I thought,  and  I told  the  lassie  that 
if  he  did,  the  credit  would  be  mainly  hers.  You  ’ll 
scarcely  believe  it,  but,  upon  my  word,  she  looked  dis- 
appointed rather  than  pleased,  and  she  said  to  me, 
quite  reproachfully,  1 You  told  me  he  was  sure  to  die!  ’ 
What  do  you  make  of  that  ? ” 

“It  sounds  unnatural.” 

“ It  does,  and  so  does  what  followed.  Do  you  know 
what  straiking  is  ? ” 

“Arraying  the  corpse  for  the  coffin,  laying  it  out,  ia 
short,  is  it  not  ? ” 

“Ay,  ay.  Well,  it  appears  that  Grizel  had  prigged 
with  the  women  to  let  her  be  present  at  Ballingall’s 
straiking,  and  they  had  refused.” 

“I  should  think  so,”  exclaimed  McQueen,  with  a 
shudder. 

“But  that’s  not  all.  She  came  to  me  in  her  diffi- 
culty, and  said  that  if  I didna  promise  her  this  privilege 
she  would  nurse  Ballingall  no  more.” 

“Ugh!  That  shows  at  least  that  pity  for  him.  had 
not  influenced  her.” 

“No,  she  cared  not  a doit  for  him.  I question  if 
she 's  the  kind  that  could  care  for  anyone.  It ’s  plain 


THE  LONGER  CATECHISM 


383 


by  her  thrawn  look  when  you  speak  to  her  about  her 
mother  that  she  has  no  affection  even  for  her.  How- 
ever, there  she  was,  prepared  to  leave  Ballingall  to  his 
fate  if  I did  not  grant  her  request,  and  I had  to  yield 
to  her.” 

“You  promised  ?” 

“I  did,  sore  against  the  grain,  but  I accept  the 
responsibility.  You  are  pained,  but  you  don’t  know 
what  a good  nurse  means  to  a doctor.” 

\ “Well  ?” 

“ Well,  he  died  after  all,  and  the  straiking  is  going 
o\  now.  You  saw  her  go  in.” 

“ I think  you  could  have  been  excused  for  breaking 
yo\r  word  and  turning  her  out.” 

‘*To  tell  the  truth,”  said  the  doctor,  UI  had  the  same 
ideawhen  I saw  her  enter,  and  I tried  to  shoo  her  to 
the  Opor,  but  she  cried,  * You  promised,  you  can’t  break 
a promise  I ’ and  the  morbid  brat  that  she  is  looked  so 
horrifed  at  the  very  notion  of  anybody’s  breaking  a 
promise  that  I slunk  away  as  if  she  had  right  on  her 
side.” 

“No  wonder  the  little  monster  is  unpopular,”  was 
McLean’s  comment.  “The  children  hereabout  seem  to 
take  to  her  as  little  as  I do,  for  I had  to  drive  away 
some  who  were  molesting  her.  I am  sorry  I interfered 
now.” 

“I  can  tell  you  why  they  t’nead  her,”  replied  the 
doctor,  and  he  repeated  the  little  that  was  known  in 


334 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Thrums  of  the  Painted  Lady.  “And  you  see  the 
womenfolk  are  mad  because  they  can  find  out  so  little 
about  her,  where  she  got  her  money,  for  instance,  and 
who  are  the  4 gentlemen  ’ that  are  said  to  visit  her  at 
Double  Dykes.  They  have  tried  many  ways  of  drawing 
Grizel,  from  heckle  biscuits  and  parlies  to  a slap  in  the 
face,  but  neither  by  coaxing  nor  squeezing  will  you  get 
an  egg  out  of  a sweer  hen,  and  so  they  found.  4 The 
dour  little  limmer,’  they  say,  4 stalking  about  wi’  al) 
her  blinds  down, ’ and  they  are  slow  to  interfere  whei 
their  laddies  call  her  names.  It ’s  a pity  for  hersel 
that  she  ’s  not  more  communicative,  for  if  she  woud 
just  satisfy  the  women’s  curiosity  she  would  find  tbm 
full  of  kindness.  A terrible  thing,  Mr.  McLean,  is  ciri- 
osity.  The  Bible  says  that  the  love  of  money  is  the 
root  of  all  evil,  but  we  must  ask  Mr.  Dishart  if  love 
of  money  is  not  a misprint  for  curiosity.  And  you 
won’t  find  men  boring  their  way  into  other  folk’s  com 
cerns;  it  is  a woman’s  failing,  essentially  a womm’s.” 
This  was  the  doctor’s  pet  topic,  and  he  pursued  is  until 
they  had  to  part.  He  had  opened  his  door  and  was 
about  to  enter  when  he  saw  Gavinia  passing  on  ter  way 
home  from  the  Den. 

“Come  here,  my  lass,”  he  called  to  her,  and  then 
said  inquisitively,  “I ’m  told  Mr.  McLean  is  at  his  tea 
with  Miss  Ailie  every  day  ? ” 

“ And  it’s  true,”  replied  Gavinia,  in  huge  delight* 
“and  what 's  more,  she  has  given  him  some  presents.” 


THE  LONGER  CATECHISM 


836 


u You  say  so,  lassie!  What  were  they  now  ? n 
“I  dinna  ken,”  Gavinia  had  to  admit,  dejectedly 
* She  took  them  out  o’  the  ottoman,  and  it  has  aye  been 
kept  locked.” 

McQueen  looked  very  knowingly  at  her.  “Will  he, 
think  you  ? ” he  asked  mysteriously. 

The  maid  seemed  to  understand,  for  she  replied, 
promptly,  “I  hope  he  will.” 

“But  he  hasna  spiered  her  as  yet,  you  think  ? ” 

“No,”  she  said,  “no,  but  he  calls  her  Ailie,  and  wiJ 
the  gentry  it  *s  but  one  loup  frae  that  to  spiering  ” 
“Maybe,”  answered  the  doctor,  “but  it 9 a a loup 
they  often  bogle  at,  I ■ se  uphaud  he  *s  close  on  fifty, 
Gavinia  ? ” 

“ There  ’a  no  denying  he  is  by  his  best,”  she  said 
regretfully,  and  then  added,  with  spirit,  “but  Miss 
Ailie’s  no  heavy,  and  in  thae  grite  arms  o'  his  he  could 
daidle  her  as  if  she  were  an  infant.” 

This  bewildered  McQueen,  and  he  asked,  “ What  are 
you  blethering  about,  Gavinia  ? ” to  which  she  replied, 
regally,  “Wha  carries  me,  wears  me!”  The  doctor 
concluded  that,  it  must  be  Den  language. 

“And  I hope  he  9 a good  enough  for  her,”  continued 
Miss  Ailie 's  warm-hearted  maid,  “for  she  deserves  a 
good  ane.” 

“She  does,”  McQueen  agreed  heartily;  “ay,  and  1 
believe  he  is,  for  he  breathes  through  his  nose  instead 
of  through  his  mouth:  and  let  me  tell  you,  Gavinia 


336 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


that ’s  the  one  thing  to  be  sure  of  in  a man  before  you 
take  him  for  better  or  worse.” 

The  astounded  maid  replied,  “1*11  ken  better  things 
than  that  about  my  lad  afore  I take  him,”  but  the 
doctor  assured  her  that  it  was  the  box  which  held  them 
all,  “ though  you  maun  tell  no  one,  lassie,  for  it ’s  my 
one  discovery  in  five  and  thirty  years  of  practice.” 
Seeing  that,  despite  his  bantering  tone,  he  was 
speaking  seriously,  she  pressed  him  for  his  meaning, 
but  he  only  replied  sadly,  “You’re  like  the  rest, 
Gavinia,  I see  it  breaking  out  on  you  in  spots.” 

“An  illness!  ” she  cried,  in  alarm. 

“Ay,  lassie,  an  illness  called  curiosity.  I had  just 
been  telling  Mr.  McLean  that  curiosity  is  essentially  a 
woman’s  ailment,  and  up  you  come  ahint  to  prove  it.” 
Re  shook  a finger  at  her  reprovingly,  and  was  probably 
still  reflecting  on  woman’s  ways  when  Grizel  walked 
home  at  midnight  breathing  through  her  nose,  and 
Tommy  fell  asleep  with  his  mouth  open.  For  Tommy 
could  never  have  stood  the  doctor’s  test  of  a man.  In 
the  painting  of  him,  aged  twenty-four,  which  was 
exhibited  in  the  Royal  Academy,  his  lips  meet  firmly, 
but  no  one  knew  save  himself  how  he  gasped  after  each 
sitting. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


BUT  IT  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN  MISS  KITTY 

The  ottoman  whence,  as  Gavinia  said,  Miss  Ailie  pro 
duced  the  presents  she  gave  to  Mr.  McLean,  stood  near 
the  door  of  the  blue-and-white  room,  with  a reel  of 
thread  between,  to  keep  them  apart  forever.  Except  on 
washing  days  it  was  of  a genteel  appearance,  for  though 
but  a wooden  kist,  it  had  a gay  outer  garment  with  frills, 
which  Gavinia  starched,  and  beneath  this  was  apparel  of 
a private  character  that  tied  with  tapes.  When  Miss 
Ailie,  pins  in  her  mouth,  was  on  her  knees  arraying 
the  ottoman,  it  might  almost  have  been  mistaken  for  a 
female  child. 

The  contents  of  the  ottoman  were  a few  trivial  articles 
sewn  or  knitted  by  Miss  Kitty  during  her  last  illness, 
“just  to  keep  me  out  of  languor,”  she  would  explain 
wistfully  to  her  sister.  She  never  told  Miss  Ailie  that 
they  were  intended  for  any  special  person ; on  the  con- 
trary, she  said,  “Perhaps  you  may  find  someone  they 
will  be  useful  to,”  but  almost  without  her  knowing  it 
they  always  grew  into  something  that  would  be  useful 
to  Ivie  McLean. 


22 


338 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ The  remarkable  thing  is  that  they  are  an  exact  fit,* 
the  man  said  about  the  slippers,  and  Miss  Ailie  nodded, 
but  she  did  not  think  it  remarkable. 

There  were  also  two  fluffy  little  bags,  and  Miss  Ailie 
had  to  explain  their  use.  “If  you  put  your  feet  into 
them  in  bed,*  she  faltered,  “they  — they  keep  you 
warm.* 

McLean  turned  hastily  to  something  else,  a smoking- 
cap.  “I  scarcely  think  this  can  have  been  meant  for 
me,*  he  said;  “you  have  forgotten  how  she  used  to 
chide  me  for  smoking.* 

Miss  Ailie  had  not  forgotten.  “But  in  a way,*  she 
replied,  flushing  a little,  “ we  — that  is,  Kitty  — could 
not  help  admiring  you  for  smoking.  There  is  some- 
thing so  — so  dashing  about  it.* 

“ I was  little  worthy  all  the  friendship  you  two  gave 
me,  Ailie,*  he  told  her  humbly,  and  he  was  nearly  say- 
ing something  to  her  then  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  say.  The  time  came  a few  days  later.  They  had 
been  walking  together  on  the  hill,  and  on  their  return 
to  the  Dovecot  he  had  insisted,  “in  his  old  imperious 
way,*  on  coming  in  to  tea.  Hearing  talking  in  the 
kitchen  Miss  Ailie  went  along  the  passage  to  discover 
what  company  her  maid  kept;  but  before  she  reached 
the  door,  which  was  ajar,  she  turned  as  if  she  had  heard 
something  dreadful  and  hurried  upstairs,  signing  to  Mr. 
McLean,  with  imploring  eyes,  to  follow  her.  This  at 
once  sent  him  to  the  kitchen  door. 


OVER  HER  HEAD  WAS  A LITTLE  MUSLIN  WINDOW-BLIND,  REPRESENTING 
A bride’s  VEIL 


' 


\ 


% « 


Or* 


% 


% 


BUT  IT  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN  MISS  KITTY  339 

Gavinia  was  alone.  She  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  with  one  arm  crooked  as  if  making  believe 
that  another’s  arm  rested  on  it,  and  over  her  head  was 
a little  muslin  window-blind,  representing  a bride’s  veil. 
Thus  she  was  two  persons,  but  she  was  also  a third,  who 
addressed  them  in  clerical  tones. 

“Ivie  McLean,”  she  said  as  solemnly  as  tho’  she  were 
the  Eev.  Mr.  Dishart,  “ do  you  take  this  woman  to  be 
thy  lawful  wedded  wife  ? ” With  almost  indecent  haste 
she  answered  herself,  “ I do.” 

“ Alison  Cray,”  she  said  next,  “ do  you  take  this  man 
to  be  thy  lawful  wedded  husband  ? ” “I  do.” 

Just  then  the  door  shut  softly;  and  Gavinia  ran  to 
see  who  had  been  listening,  with  the  result  that  she  hid 
herself  in  the  coal-cellar. 

While  she  was  there,  Miss  Ailie  and  Mr.  McLean 
were  sitting  in  the  blue-and-white  room  very  self- 
conscious,  and  Miss  Ailie  was  speaking  confusedly  of 
anything  and  everything,  saying  more  in  five  minutes 
than  had  served  for  the  previous  hour,  and  always  as 
she  slackened  she  read  an  intention  in  his  face  that 
started  her  tongue  upon  another  journey.  But,  “ Timid 
Ailie,”  he  said  at  last,  “ do  you  think  you  can  talk  me 
down  ? ” and  then  she  gave  him  a look  of  reproach  that 
turned  treacherously  into  one  of  appeal,  but  he  had  the 
hardihood  to  continue;  “ Ailie,  do  you  need  to  be  told 
what  I want  to  say  ? ” 

Miss  Ailie  stood  quite  still  now,  a stiff,  thick  figure, 


840 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


with  a soft,  plain  face  and  nervous  hands.  “Before  yon 
speak, ” she  said,  nervously,  “ I have  something  to  tell 
you  that  — perhaps  then  you  will  not  say  it. 

“ I have  always  led  you  to  believe,”  she  began,  trem 
bling,  “ that  I am  forty-nine.  I am  fifty-one.” 

He  would  have  spoken,  but  the  look  of  appeal  came 
back  to  her  face,  asking  him  to  make  it  easier  for  her  by 
saying  nothing.  She  took  a pair  of  spectacles  from  her 
pocket,  and  he  divined  what  this  meant  before  she  spoke. 
“ I have  avoided  letting  you  see  that  I need  them,”  she 
said.  “You  — men  don’t  like — ” She  tried  to  say  it 
all  in  a rush,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 

“I  am  beginning  to  be  a little  deaf,”  she  went  on. 
“ To  deceive  you  about  that,  I have  sometimes  answered 
you  without  really  knowing  what  you  said.” 

“ Anything  more,  Ailie  ? ” 

“ My  accomplishments  — they  were  never  great,  but 
Kitty  and  I thought  my  playing  of  classical  pieces  — my 
fingers  are  not  sufficiently  pliable  now.  And  I ~ I for- 
get so  many  things.” 

“But,  Ailie ” 

“Please  let  me  tell  you.  I was  reading  a book,  a 
story,  last  winter,  and  one  of  the  characters,  an  old  maid, 
was  held  up  to  ridicule  in  it  for  many  little  peculiarities 
that  — that  I recognized  as  my  own.  They  had  grown 
upon  me  without  my  knowing  that  they  made  me  ridicu* 
lous,  and  now  I — I have  tried,  but  I cannot  alter  them.” 
u Is  that  all,  Ailie  ? ” 


BUT  IT  SHOULD  HAVE  BEEN  MISS  KITTY  341 


“No” 

The  last  seemed  to  be  the  hardest  to  say.  Dusk  had 
come  on,  and  they  could  not  see  each  other  well.  She 
asked  him  to  light  the  lamp,  and  his  back  was  toward 
her  while  he  did  it,  wondering  a little  at  her  request. 
When  he  turned,  her  hands  rose  like  cowards  to  hide  her 
head,  but  she  pulled  them  down.  “ Do  you  not  see  ? ” 
she  said. 

“ I see  that  you  have  done  something  to  your  hair,” 
he  answered,  w I liked  it  best  the  other  way.” 

Most  people  would  have  liked  it  best  the  other  way. 
There  was  still  a good  deal  of  it,  but  the  “ bun  ” in 
which  it  ended  had  gone  strangely  small.  “The  rest 
was  false,”  said  Miss  Ailie,  with  a painful  effort ; “ at 
least,  it  is  my  own,  but  it  came  out  when  — when  Kitty 
died.” 

She  stopped,  but  he  was  silent.  “ That  is  all  now,” 
she  said,  softly ; and  she  waited  for  him  to  speak  if  he 
chose.  He  turned  his  head  away  sharply,  and  Missr 
Ailie  mistook  his  meaning.  If  she  gave  one  little  sob 
Well,  it  was  but  one,  and  then  all  the  glory  of  woman- 
hood came  rushing  to  her  aid,  and  it  unfurled  its  flag 
over  her,  whispering,  “ Now,  sweet  daughter,  now,  strike 
for  me,”  and  she  raised  her  head  gallantly,  and  for  a 
moment  in  her  life  the  old  school-mistress  was  a queen. 
“ I shall  ring  for  tea,”  she  said,  quietly  and  without  a 
tremor;  “do  you  think  there  is  anything  so  refreshing 
after  a walk  as  a dish  of  tea  ?” 


d42 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


She  rang  the  bell,  but  its  tinkle  only  made  Gavinia 
recede  farther  into  the  cellar,  and  that  summons  has  not 
been  answered  to  this  day,  and  no  one  seems  to  care,  for 
while  the  wires  were  still  vibrating  Mr.  McLean  had 
asked  Miss  Ailie  to  forgive  him  and  marry  him. 

Miss  Ailie  said  she  would,  but,  " Oh,”  she  cried,  “ ten 
years  ago  it  might  have  been  my  Kitty.  I would  that 
it  had  been  Kitty ! ” 

Miss  Ailie  was  dear  to  him  now,  and  ten  years  is  a 
long  time,  and  men  are  vain.  Mr.  McLean  replied,  quite 
honestly,  “I  am  not  sure  that  I did  not  always  like  you 
best,”  but  that  hurt  her,  and  he  had  to  unsay  the  words. 

“ I was  a thoughtless  fool  ten  years  ago,”  he  said,  bit- 
terly, and  Miss  Ailie’s  answer  came  strangely  from  such 
timid  lips.  “ Yes,  you  were  ! ” she  exclaimed,  passion- 
ately, and  all  the  wrath,  long  pent  up,  with  very  differ* 
ent  feelings,  in  her  gentle  bosom,  against  the  man  who 
should  have  adored  her  Kitty,  leapt  at  that  reproachful 
cry  to  her  mouth  and  eyes,  and  so  passed  out  of  hei 
forever. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 

So  Miss  Ailie  could  be  brave,  but  what  a poltroon  she 
was  also!  Three  calls  did  she  make  on  dear  friends, 
ostensibly  to  ask  how  a cold  was  or  to  instruct  them  in 
a new  device  in  Shetland  wool,  but  really  to  announce 
that  she  did  not  propose  keeping  school  after  the  end  of 
the  term  — because  — in  short,  Mr.  Ivie  McLean  and 
she — that  is  he  — and  so  on.  But  though  she  had 
planned  it  all  out  so  carefully,  with  at  least  three  capi- 
tal ways  of  leading  up  to  it,  and  knew  precisely  what 
they  would  say,  and  pined  to  hear  them  say  it,  on  each 
occasion  shyness  conquered  and  she  came  away  with  the 
words  unspoken.  How  she  despised  herself,  and  how 
Mr.  McLean  laughed!  He  wanted  to  take  the  job  off 
her  hands  by  telling  the  news  to  Dr.  McQueen,  who 
could  be  depended  on  to  spread  it  through  the  town,  and 
Miss  Ailie  discovered  with  horror  that  his  simple  plan 
was  to  say,  “ How  are  you,  doctor  ? I just  looked  in  to 
tell  you  that  Miss  Ailie  and  I are  to  be  married.  Good 
afternoon.”  The  audacity  of  this  captivated  Miss  Ailie 
even  while  it  outraged  her  sense  of  decency.  To  Red- 
lintie  went  Mr.  McLean,  and  returning  next  day  drew 


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SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


from  his  pocket  something  which  he  put  on  Miss  Ailie’s 
finger,  and  then  she  had  the  idea  of  taking  off  her  left 
glove  in  church,  which  would  have  announced  her  engage- 
ment as  loudly  as  though  Mr.  Dishart  had  included  it  in 
Ins  pulpit  intimations.  Religion,  however,  stopped  her 
when  she  had  got  the  little  finger  out,  and  the  Misses 
Einlayson,  who  sat  behind  and  knew  she  had  an  itchy 
something  inside  her  glove,  concluded  that  it  was  her 
threepenny  for  the  plate.  As  for  Gavinia,  like  others 
of  her  class  in  those  days,  she  had  never  heard  of  engage- 
ment rings,  and  so  it  really  seemed  as  if  Mr.  McLean 
must  call  on  the  doctor  after  alL  But  “No,”  said  he, 
“ I hit  upon  a better  notion  to-day  in  the  Den,”  and  to 
explain  this  notion  he  produced  from  his  pocket  a large, 
vulgar  bottle,  which  shocked  Miss  Ailie,  and  indeed 
that  bottle  had  not  passed  through  the  streets  uncom- 
mented on. 

Mr.  McLean  having  observed  this  bottle  afloat  on  the 
Silent  Pool,  had  fished  it  out  with  his  stick,  and  its  con- 
tents set  him  chuckling.  They  consisted  of  a sheet  of 
paper  which  stated  that  the  bottle  was  being  flung  into 
the  sea  in  lat.  20,  long.  40,  by  T.  Sandys,  Commander  of 
the  Ailie,  then  among  the  breakers.  Sandys  had  little 
hope  of  weathering  the  gale,  but  he  was  indifferent  to 
his  own  fate  so  long  as  his  enemy  did  not  escape,  and  he 
called  upon  whatsoever  loyal  subjects  of  the  Queen 
should  find  this  document  to  sail  at  once  to  lat.  20, 
long.  40,  and  there  cruise  till  they  had  captured  the 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 


345 


Pretender,  alias  Stroke,  and  destroyed  his  Lair.  A 
somewhat  unfavorable  personal  description  of  Stroke 
<ras  appended,  with  a map  of  the  coast,  and  a stern 
warning  to  all  loyal  subjects  not  to  delay  as  one  Ailie 
was  in  the  villain’s  hands  and  he  might  kill  her  any 
day.  Victoria  Eegina  would  give  five  hundred  pounds 
for  his  head.  The  letter  ended  in  manly  style  with  the 
writer’s  sending  an  affecting  farewell  message  to  his  wife 
and  little  children. 

“ And  so  while  we  are  playing  ourselves,”  said  Mr. 
McLean  to  Miss  Ailie,  “your  favorite  is  seeking  my 
blood.” 

“ Our  favorite,”  interposed  the  school-mistress,  and  he 
accepted  the  correction,  for  neither  of  them  could  forget 
that  their  present  relations  might  have  been  very  differ- 
ent had  it  not  been  for  Tommy’s  faith  in  the  pass-book- 
The  boy  had  shown  a knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  in 
Miss  Ailie’s  opinion,  that  was  simply  wonderful ; in- 
spiration she  called  it,  and  though  Ivie  thought  it  a 
happy  accident,  he  did  not  call  it  so  to  her.  Tommy’s 
father  had  been  the  instrument  in  bringing  these  two 
together  originally,  and  now  Tommy  had  brought  them 
together  again ; there  was  fate  in  it,  and  if  the  boy  was 
of  the  right  stuff  McLean  meant  to  reward  him. 

“I  see  now,”  he  said  to  Miss  Ailie,  “ a way  of  getting 
rid  of  our  fearsome  secret  and  making  my  peace  with 
Sandys  at  one  fell  blow.”  He  declined  to  tell  her  more, 
but  presently  he  sought  Gavinia,  who  dreaded  him  now- 


346 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


adays  because  of  his  disconcerting  way  of  looking  at  her 
inquiringly  and  saying  “ I do  ! ” 

“ You  don’t  happen  to  know,  Gavinia,”  he  asked, 
“ whether  the  good  ship  Ailie  weathered  the  gale  of  the 
15th  instant?  If  it  did,”  he  went  on,  “Commander 
Sandys  will  learn  something  to  his  advantage  from  a 
bottle  that  is  to  be  cast  into  the  ocean  this  evening.” 
Gavinia  thought  she  heard  the  chink  of  another  five 
shillings,  and  her  mouth  opened  so  wide  that  a chaffinch 
could  have  built  therein.  “ Is  he  to  look  for  a bottle  in 
the  pond?”  she  asked,  eagerly. 

“ I do,”  replied  McLean  with  such  solemnity  that  she 
again  retired  to  the  coal-cellar. 

That  evening  Mr.  McLean  cast  a bottle  into  the  Silent 
Pool,  and  subsequently  called  on  Mr.  Cathro,  to  whom 
he  introduced  himself  as  one  interested  in  Master 
Thomas  Sandys.  He  was  heartily  received,  but  at  the 
name  of  Tommy,  Cathro  heaved  a sigh  that  could  not 
pass  unnoticed.  “ I see  you  don’t  find  him  an  angel,” 
said  Mr.  McLean,  politely. 

“ ’Deed,  sir,  there  are  times  when  I wish  he  was  an 
angel,”  the  dominie  replied  so  viciously  that  McLean 
laughed.  “And  I grudge  you  that  laugh,”  continued 
Cathro,  “for  your  Tommy  Sandys  has  taken  from  me 
the  most  precious  possession  a teacher  can  have  — my 
sense  of  humor.” 

“He  strikes  me  as  having  a considerable  sense  of 
humor  himself.” 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 


347 


“ Well  lie  may,  Mr.  McLean,  for  he  has  gone  off  with 
all  mine.  But  bide  a wee  till  I get  in  the  tumblers,  and 
I ’ll  tell  you  the  latest  about  him  — if  what  you  want  to 
hear  is  just  the  plain  exasperating  truth. 

“ His  humor  that  you  spoke  of,”  resumed  the  school- 
master presently,  addressing  his  words  to  the  visitor, 
and  his  mind  to  a toddy  ladle  of  horn,  “ is  ill  to  endure 
in  a school  where  the  understanding  is  that  the  dominie 
makes  all  the  jokes  (except  on  examination-day,  when 
the  ministers  get  their  yearly  fling),  but  I think  I like 
your  young  friend  worst  when  he  is  deadly  serious. 
He  is  constantly  playing  some  new  part  — playing  is 
hardly  the  word  though,  for  into  each  part  he  puts  an 
earnestness  that  cheats  even  himself,  until  he  takes  to 
another.  I suppose  you  want  me  to  give  you  some  idea 
of  his  character,  and  I could  tell  you  what  it  is  at  any 
particular  moment ; but  it  changes,  sir,  I do  assure  you, 
almost  as  quickly  as  the  circus-rider  flings  off  his  layers 
of  waistcoats.  A single  puff  of  wind  blows  him  from 
one  character  to  another,  and  he  may  be  noble  and 
vicious,  and  a tyrant  and  a slave,  and  hard  as  granite 
and  melting  as  butter  in  the  sun,  all  in  one  forenoon. 
All  you  can  be  sure  of  is  that  whatever  he  is  he  will  be 
it  in  excess.” 

“ But  I understood,”  said  McLean,  “ that  at  present 
he  is  solely  engaged  on  a war  of  extermination  in  the 
Den.” 

“ Ah,  those  exploits,  I fancy,  are  confined  to  Saturday 


848 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


nights,  and  unfortunately  his  Saturday  debauch  does 
not  keep  him  sober  for  the  rest  of  the  week,  which 
we  demand  of  respectable  characters  in  these  parts. 
For  the  last  day  or  two,  for  instance,  he  has  been  in 
mourning,” 

“ I had  not  heard  of  that.” 

“No,  I daresay  not,  and  I’ll  give  you  the  facts,  if 
you’ll  fill  your  glass  first.  But  perhaps  — ” here  the 
dominie’s  eyes  twinkled  as  if  a gleam  of  humor  had  been 
left  him  after  all  — " perhaps  you  have  been  more  used 
of  late  to  ginger  wine  ? ” 

The  visitor  received  the  shock  impassively  as  if  he  did 
not  know  he  had  been  hit,  and  Cathro  proceeded  with 
his  narrative.  “ Well,  for  a day  or  two  Tommy  Sandys 
has  been  coming  to  the  school  in  a black  jacket  with 
crape  on  the  cuffs,  and  not  only  so,  he  has  sat  quiet  and 
forlorn-like  at  his  desk  as  if  he  had  lost  some  near  and 
dear  relative.  Now  I knew  that  he  had  not,  for  his  only 
relative  is  a sister  whom  you  may  have  seen  at  the 
Hanky  School,  and  both  she  and  Aaron  Latta  are  hearty. 
Yet,  sir  (and  this  shows  the  effect  he  has  on  me),  though 
I was  puzzled  and  curious  I dared  not  ask  for  an 
explanation.” 

" But  why  not  ? ” was  the  visitor’s  natural  question. 

“ Because,  sir,  he  is  such  a mysterious  little  sacket,” 
replied  Cathro,  testily,  “ and  so  clever  at  leading  you 
into  a hole,  that  it ’s  not  chancey  to  meddle  with  him, 
and  I could  see  through  the  corner  of  my  eye  that,  for 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 


349 


all  this  woful  face,  he  was  proud  of  it,  and  hoped  I was 
taking  note.  For  though  sometimes  his  emotion  masters 
him  completely,  at  other  times  he  can  step  aside  as  it 
were,  and  take  an  approving  look  at  it.  That  is  a char- 
acteristic of  him,  and  not  the  least  maddening  one.” 

“ But  you  solved  the  mystery  somehow,  I suppose  ? ” 

“ I got  at  the  truth  to-day  by  an  accident,  or  rather 
my  wife  discovered  it  for  me.  She  happened  to  call  in 
at  the  school  on  a domestic  matter  I need  not  trouble 
you  with  (sal,  she  needna  have  troubled  me  with  it 
either !),  and  on  her  way  up  the  yard  she  noticed  a laddie 
called  Lewis  Doig  playing  with  other  ungodly  youths  at 
the  game  of  kickbonnety,  Lewis’s  father,  a gentleman 
farmer,  was  buried  jimply  a fortnight  since,  and  such 
want  of  respect  for  his  memory  made  my  wife  give  the 
loon  a dunt  on  the  head  with  a pound  of  sugar,  which 
she  had  just  bought  at  the  ’Sosh.  He  turned  on  her, 
ready  to  scart  or  spit  or  run,  as  seemed  wisest,  and  in  a 
klink  her  woman’s  eye  saw  what  mine  had  overlooked, 
that  he  was  not  even  wearing  a black  jacket.  Well,  she 
told  him  what  the  slap  was  for,  and  his  little  counte- 
nance cleared  at  once.  c Oh } says  he,  * that ’s  all  right, 
Tommy  and  me  has  arranged  it,’  and  he  pointed  blithely 
to  a corner  of  the  yard  where  Tommy  was  hunkering  by 
himself  in  Lewis’s  jacket,  and  wiping  his  mournful  eyes 
with  Lewis’s  hanky.  I daresay  you  can  jalouse  the  rest, 
but  I kept  Lewis  behind  after  the  school  skailed,  and 
got  a full  confession  out  of  him.  He  had  tried  hard,  he 


350 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


gave  me  to  understand,  to  mourn  fittingly  for  his  father, 
but  the  kickbonnety  season  being  on,  it  was  up-hill  work, 
and  he  was  relieved  when  Tommy  volunteered  to  take  it 
off  his  hands.  * Tommy’s  offer  was  to  swop  jackets  every 
morning  for  a week  or  two,  and  thus  properly  attired  to 
do  the  mourning  for  him.” 

The  dominie  paused,  and  regarded  his  guest  quizzi- 
cally. “Sir,”  he  said  at  length,  “laddies  are  a queer 
growth;  I assure  you  there  was  no  persuading  Lewis 
that  it  was  not  a right  and  honorable  compact.” 
“And  what  payment,”  asked  McLean,  laughing,  “did 
Tommy  demand  from  Lewis  for  this  service  ? ” 

“Not  a farthing,  sir  — which  gives  another  uncanny 
glint  into  his  character.  When  he  wants  money  there  ’s 
none  so  crafty  at  getting  it,  but  he  did  this  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  thing,  or,  as  he  said  to  Lewis,  ‘ to  feel 
what  it  would  be  like.’  That,  I tell  you,  is  the  nature 
of  the  sacket,  he  has  a devouring  desire  to  try  on  other 
folk’s  feelings,  as  if  they  were  so  many  suits  of 
clothes.” 

“And  from  your  account  he  makes  them  fit  him  too.” 
“My  certie,  he  does,  and  a lippie  in  the  bonnet  more 
than  that.” 

So  far  the  schoolmaster  had  spoken  frankly,  even 
with  an  occasional  grin  at  his  own  expense,  but  his 
words  came  reluctantly  when  he  had  to  speak  of 
Tommy’s  prospects  at  the  bursary  examinations.  “I 
would  rather  say  nothing  on  that  head,”  he  said,  almost 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 


351 


coaxingly,  “ for  the  laddie  has  a year  to  reform  in  yet, 
and  it  ’s  never  safe  to  prophesy.” 

“Still  I should  have  thought  that  you  could  guess 
pretty  accurately  how  the  boys  you  mean  to  send  up  in 
a year’s  time  are  likely  to  do  ? You  have  had  a long 
experience,  and,  I am  told,  a glorious  one.” 

“ ’Deed,  there ’s  no  denying  it,”  answered  the  dominie, 
with  a pride  he  had  won  the  right  to  wear.  “ If  all  the 
ministers,  for  instance,  I have  turned  out  in  this  bit 
school  were  to  come  back  together,  they  could  hold  the 
General  Assembly  in  the  square.” 

He  lay  back  in  his  big  chair,  a complacent  dominie 
again.  “ Guess  the  chances  of  my  laddies ! ” he  cried, 
forgetting  what  he  had  just  said,  and  that  there  was  a 
Tommy  to  bother  him.  “I  tell  you,  sir,  that’s  a 
matter  on  which  I ’m  never  deceived,  I can  tell  the 
results  so  accurately  that  a wise  Senatus  would  give  my 
lot  the  bursaries  I say  they  ’ll  carry,  without  setting  them 
down  to  examination-papers  at  all.”  And  for  the  next 
half-hour  he  was  reciting  cases  in  proof  of  his  sagacity. 

“Wonderful!  ” chimed  in  McLean.  “I  see  it  is  evi- 
dent you  can  tell  me  how  Tommy  Sandys  will  do,”  but 
at  that  Cathro’s  rush  of  words  again  subsided  into  a 
dribble. 

“ He ’s  the  worst  Latinist  that  ever  had  the  impudence 
to  think  of  bursaries he  groaned. 

“ And  his  Greek  — ” asked  McLean,  helping  on  the 
conversation  as  far  as  possible. 


352 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“His  Greek,  sir,  could  be  packed  in  a pill-box.” 

“ That  does  not  sound  promising.  But  the  best  math- 
ematicians are  sometimes  the  worst  linguists.” 

“His  Greek  is  better  than  his  mathematics,”  said 
Cathro,  and  he  fell  into  lamentation.  “ I have  had  no 
luck  lately,”  he  sighed.  “The  laddies  I have  to  prepare 
for  college  are  second-raters,  and  the  vexing  thing  is, 
that  when  a real  scholar  is  reared  in  Thrums,  instead  of 
his  being  handed  over  to  me  for  the  finishing,  they  send 
him  to  Mr.  Ogilvy  in  Glenquharity.  Did  Miss  Ailie 
ever  mention  Gavin  Dishart  to  you  — the  minister’s 
son  ? I just  craved  to  get  the  teaching  of  that  laddie, 
he  was  the  kind  you  can  cram  with  learning  till  there ’s 
no  room  left  for  another  spoonful,  and  they  bude  send 
him  to  Mr.  Ogilvy,  and  you  ’ll  see  he  ’ll  stand  high 
above  my  loons  in  the  bursary  list.  And  then  Ogilvy 
will  put  on  sic  airs  that  there  will  be  no  enduring  him. 
Ogilvy  and  I,  sir,  we  are  engaged  in  an  everlasting 
duel;  when  we  send  students  to  the  examinations,  it  is 
we  two  who  are  the  real  competitors,  but  what  chance 
have  I,  when  he  is  represenetd  by  a Gavin  Dishart  and 
my  man  is  Tommy  Sandys  ? ” 

' McLean  was  greatly  disappointed.  “Why  send 
Tommy  up  at  all  if  he  is  so  backward  ? ” he  said. 
“You  are  sure  you  have  not  exaggerated  his  defi- 
ciencies ? ” 

“Well,  not  much  at  any  rate.  But  he  baffles  me; 
one  day  I think  him  a perfect  numskull,  and  the  next 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 


353 


he  makes  such  a show  of  the  small  drop  of  scholarship 
he  has  that  I ’m  not  sure  but  what  he  may  be  a genius.” 
“That  sounds  better.  Does  he  study  hard  ?” 

“Study!  He  is  the  most  careless  whelp  that 
ever ” 

“ But  if  I were  to  give  him  an  inducement  to  study  ? ” 
“ Such  as  ? ” asked  Cathro,  who  could  at  times  be  as 
inquisitive  as  the  doctor. 

“We  need  not  go  into  that.  But  suppose  it  appealed 
to  him  ? ” 

Cathro  considered.  “To  be  candid,”  he  said,  “I 
don’t  think  he  could  study,  in  the  big  meaning  of  the 
word.  I daresay  I ’in  wrong,  but  I have  a feeling  that 
whatever  knowledge  that  boy  acquires  he  will  dig  out 
of  himself.  There  is  something  inside  him,  or  so  I 
think  at  times,  that  is  his  master,  and  rebels  against 
book-learning.  No,  I can’t  tell  what  it  is;  when  we 
know  that  we  shall  know  the  real  Tommy.” 

“And  yet,”  said  McLean,  curiously,  “you  advise 
his  being  allowed  to  compete  for  a bursary.  That,  if 
you  will  excuse  my  saying  so,  sounds  foolish  to  me.” 
“It  can’t  seem  so  foolish  to  you,”  replied  Cathro, 
scratching  his  head,  “as  it  seems  to  me  six  days  in 
seven.” 

“ And  you  know  that  Aaron  Latta  has  sworn  to  send 
him  to  the  herding  if  he  does  not  carry  a bursary. 
Surely  the  wisest  course  would  be  to  apprentice  him 
now  to  some  trade ” 


23 


354 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“What  trade  would  not  be  the  worse  of  him?  He 
would  cut  off  his  fingers  with  a joiner’s  saw,  and  smash 
them  with  a mason’s  mell;  put  him  in  a brot  behind  a 
counter,  and  in  some  grand,  magnanimous  mood  he 
would  sell  off  his  master’s  things  for  nothing;  make  a 
clerk  of  him,  and  he  would  only  ravel  the  figures;  send 
him  to  the  soldiering,  and  he  would  have  a sudden 
impulse  to  fight  on  the  wrong  side.  No,  no,  Miss 
Ailie  says  he  has  a gift  for  the  ministry,  and  we  must 
cling  to  that.” 

In  thus  sheltering  himself  behind  Miss  Ailie,  where 
he  had  never  skulked  before,  the  dominie  showed  how 
weak  he  thought  his  position,  and  he  added,  with  a 
brazen  laugh,  “ Then  if  he  does  distinguish  himself  at 
the  examinations  I can  take  the  credit  for  it,  and  if  he 
comes  back  in  disgrace  I shall  call  you  to  witness  that 
I only  sent  him  to  them  at  her  instigation.” 

“All  which,”  maintained  McLean,  as  he  put  on  his 
topcoat,  “means  that  somehow,  against  your  better 
judgment,  you  think  he  may  distinguish  himself  after 
all.” 

“You’ve  found  me  out,”  answered  Cathro,  half 
relieved,  half  sorry.  “I  had  no  intention  of  telling 
you  so  much,  but  as  you  have  found  me  out  I ’ll  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  Unless  something  unexpected  hap- 
pens to  the  laddie  — unless  he  take  to  playing  at 
scholarship  as  if  it  were  a Jacobite  rebellion,  for 
instance  — he  shouldna  have  the  ghost  of  a chance  of  a 


TOMMY  THE  SCHOLAR 


855 


bursary,  and  if  he  were  any  other  boy  as  ill-prepared 
I should  be  ashamed  to  send  him  up,  but  he  is  Tommy 
Sandys,  you  see,  and  — it  is  a terrible  thing  to  say,  but 
it ’s  Gospel  truth,  it  *s  Gospel  truth  — I ’m  trusting  to 
the  possibility  of  his  diddling  the  examiners!” 

It  was  a startling  confession  for  a conscientious 
dominie,  and  Cathro  flung  out  his  hands  as  if  to  with- 
draw the  words,  but  his  visitor  would  have  no  tamper- 
ing with  them.  “So  that  sums  up  Tommy,  so  far  as 
you  know  him,”  he  said  as  he  bade  his  host  good-night. 

“It  does,”  Cathro  admitted,  grimly,  “but  if  what 
you  wanted  was  a written  certificate  of  character  I 
should  like  to  add  this , that  never  did  any  boy  sit  on 
my  forms  whom  I had  such  a pleasure  in  thrashing.” 


CHAPTER  XXX 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  RISING 

In  the  small  hours  of  the  following  night  the  pulse 
of  Thrums  stopped  for  a moment,  and  then  went  on 
again,  but  the  only  watcher  remained  silent,  and  the 
people  rose  in  the  morning  without  knowing  that  they 
had  lost  one  of  their  number  while  they  slept.  In  the 
same  ignorance  they  toiled  through  a long  day. 

It  was  a close  October  day  in  the  end  of  a summer 
that  had  lingered  to  give  the  countryside  nothing 
better  than  a second  crop  of  haws.  Beneath  the 
beeches  leaves  lay  in  yellow  heaps  like  sliced  turnip, 
and  over  all  the  strath  was  a pink  haze;  the  fields  were 
singed  brown,  except  where  a recent  ploughing  gave 
them  a mourning  border.  From  early  morn  men, 
women  and  children  (Tommy  among  them)  were  in  the 
fields  taking  up  their  potatoes,  half-a-dozen  gatherers 
at  first  to  every  drill,  and  by  noon  it  seemed  a dozen, 
though  the  new-comers  were  but  stout  sacks,  now  able 
to  stand  alone.  By  and  by  heavy-laden  carts  were 
trailing  into  Thrums,  dog-tired  toilers  hanging  on 
behind,  not  to  be  dragged,  but  for  an  incentive  to  keep 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  KISING 


357 


them  trudging,  boys  and  girls  falling  asleep  on  top  of 
the  load,  and  so  neglecting  to  enjoy  the  ride  which  was 
their  recompense  for  lifting.  A growing  mist  mixed 
with  the  daylight,  and  still  there  were  a few  people 
out,  falling  over  their  feet  with  fatigue ; it  took  silent 
possession,  and  then  the  shadowy  forms  left  in  the 
fields  were  motionless  and  would  remain  there  until 
carted  to  garrets  and  kitchen  corners  and  other  winter 
quarters  on  Monday  morning.  There  were  few  gad- 
abouts that  Saturday  night.  Washings  were  not 
brought  in,  though  Mr.  Dishart  had  preached  against 
the  unseemly  sight  of  linen  hanging  on  the  line  on  the 
Sabbath-day.  Innes,  stravaiging  the  square  and  wynds 
in  his  apple-cart,  jingled  his  weights  in  vain,  unable  to 
shake  even  moneyed  children  off  their  stools,  and  when 
at  last  he  told  his  beast  to  go  home  they  took  with  them 
all  the  stir  of  the  town.  Family  exercise  came  on 
early  in  many  houses,  and  as  the  gude  wife  handed  her 
man  the  Bible  she  said  entreatingly,  “ A short  ane.” 
After  that  one  might  have  said  that  no  earthly  knock 
could  bring  them  to  their  doors,  yet  within  an  hour  the 
town  was  in  a ferment. 

When  Tommy  and  Elspeth  reached  the  Den  the  mist 
lay  so  thick  that  they  had  to  feel  their  way  through  it 
to  the  Ailie>  where  they  found  Gavinia  alone  and 
scared.  “Was  you  peeping  in,  trying  to  fleg  me  twa 
three  minutes  syne  ? ” she  asked,  eagerly,  and  when 
they  shook  their  heads,  she  looked  cold  with  fear. 


358 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“As  sure  as  death,”  she  said,  “there  was  some  living 
thing  standing  there;  I couldna  see  it  for  the  rime, 
but  I heard  it  breathing  hard.” 

Tommy  felt  Elspeth’s  hand  begin  to  tremble,  and  he 
said  “ McLean ! ” hastily,  though  he  knew  that  McLean 
had  not  yet  left  the  Quharity  Arms.  Next  moment 
Corp  arrived  with  another  story  as  unnerving. 

“ Has  Grizel  no  come  yet  ? ” he  asked,  in  a troubled 
voice.  “Tommy,  hearken  to  this,  a light  has  been 
burning  in  Double  Dykes  and  the  door  swinging  open 
a*  day!  I saw  it  mysel’,  and  so  did  Willum  Dods.” 
“Did  you  go  close  ? ” 

“Nafaags!  Willum  was  holding  and  I was  lifting, 
so  we  hadna  time  in  the  daylight,  and  wha  would 
venture  near  the  Painted  Lady’s  house  on  sic  a 
night?” 

Even  Tommy  felt  uneasy,  but  when  Gavinia  cried, 
“There’s  something  uncanny  in  being  out  the  night; 
tell  us  what  was  in  Mr.  McLean’s  bottle,  Tommy,  and 
syne  we’ll  run  hame,”  he  became  Commander  Sandys 
again,  and  replied,  blankly,  “What  bottle?” 

“The  ane  I warned  you  he  was  to  fling  into  the 
water;  dinna  dare  tell  me  you  hinna  got  it.” 

“I  know  not  what  thou  art  speaking  about,”  said 
Tommy;  “but  it’s  a queer  thing,  it’s  a queer  thing, 
Gavinia  ” — here  he  fixed  her  with  his  terrifying  eye  — 
“that  I happen  to  have  found  a — another  bottle,”  and 
still  glaring  at  her  he  explained  that  he  had  found  his 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  RISING 


359 


bottle  floating  on  the  horizon.  It  contained  a letter  to 
him,  which  he  now  read  aloud.  It  was  signed  “The 
Villain  Stroke,  his  mark,”  and  announced  that  the  writer, 
“tired  of  this  relentless  persecution,”  had  determined 
"0  reform  rather  than  be  killed.  “Meet  me  at  the 
Cuttle  Well,  on  Saturday,  when  the  eight-o'clock  bell  is 
ringing,”  he  wrote,  “and  I shall  there  make  you  an  offer 
for  my  freedom.” 

The  crew  received  this  communication  with  shouts, 
Gavinia’s  cry  of  “Five  shillings,  if  no  ten!”  expres- 
sing the  general  sentiment,  but  it  would  not  have  been 
like  Tommy  to  think  with  them.  “You  poor  things,” 
he  said,  “you  just  believe  everything  you’re  telled! 
How  do  I know  that  this  is  not  a trick  of  Stroke’s  to 
bring  me  here  when  he  is  some  other  gait  working 
mischief  ? ” 

Corp  was  impressed,  but  Gavinia  said,  short-sightedly, 
“There ’s  no  sign  o’t.” 

“There’s  ower  much  sign  o’t,”  retorted  Tommy. 
“What’s  this  story  about  Double  Dykes?  And  how 
do  we  ken  that  there  hasna  been  foul  work  there,  and 
this  man  at  the  bottom  o’t  ? I tell  you,  before  the 
world ’s  half  an  hour  older,  I ’ll  find  out,”  and  he  looked 
significantly  at  Corp,  who  answered,  quaking,  ‘I  winna 
gang  by  mysel’,  no,  Tommy,  I winna!  ” 

So  Tommy  had  to  accompany  him,  saying,  valiantly, 
“I ’m  no  feared,  and  this  rime  is  fine  for  hodding  in,” 
to  which  Corp  replied,  as  firmly,  “Neither  am  I,  and 


360 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


we  can  aye  keep  touching  cauld  iron.”  Before  they 
were  half  way  down  the  Double  Dykes  they  got  a 
thrill,  for  they  realized,  simultaneously,  that  they  were 
being  followed.  They  stopped  and  gripped  each  other 
hard,  but  now  they  could  hear  nothing. 

“ The  Painted  Lady ! ” Corp  whispered. 

“ Stroke ! ” Tommy  replied,  as  cautiously.  He  was 
excited  rather  than  afraid,  and  had  the  pluck  to  cry, 
“Wha  's  that  ? I see  you!  ” — but  no  answer  came  back 
through  the  mist,  and  now  the  boys  had  a double  reason 
for  pressing  forward. 

“ Can  you  see  the  house,  Corp  ? ” 

“It  should  be  here  about,  but  it  's  smored  in  rime.* 
“I'm  touching  the  paling.  I ken  the  road  to  the 
window  now.” 

“Hark!  What's  that?” 

It  sounded  like  devil's  music  in  front  of  them,  and 
they  fell  back  until  Corp  remembered,  “ It  maun  be  the 
door  swinging  open,  and  squealing  and  moaning  on  its 
hinges.  Tommy,  I take  ill  wi'  that.  What  can  it 
nean  ? ” 

“I  ' m here  to  find  out.”  They  reached  the  window 
where  Tommy  had  watched  once  before,  and  looking  in 
together  saw  the  room  plainly  by  the  light  of  a lamp 
which  stood  on  the  spinet.  There  was  no  one  inside, 
but  otherwise  Tommy  noticed  little  change.  The  fire 
was  out,  having  evidently  burned  itself  done,  the  bed- 
clothes were  in  some  disorder.  To  avoid  the  creaking 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  RISING 


361 


door,  the  boys  passed  round  the  back  of  the  house  to 
the  window  of  the  other  room.  This  room  was  without 
a light,  but  its  door  stood  open  and  sufficient  light  came 
from  the  kitchen  to  show  that  it  also  was  untenanted. 
It  seemed  to  have  been  used  as  a lumber-room. 

The  boys  turned  to  go,  passing  near  the  front  of  the 
empty  house,  where  they  shivered  and  stopped,  mastered 
by  a feeling  they  could  not  have  explained.  The  help- 
less door,  like  the  staring  eyes  of  a dead  person,  seemed 
to  be  calling  to  them  to  shut  it,  and  Tommy  was  about 
to  steal  forward  for  this  purpose  when  Corp  gripped 
him  and  whispered  that  the  light  had  gone  out.  It  was 
true,  though  Tommy  disbelieved  until  they  had  returned 
to  the  east  window  to  make  sure. 

“ There  maun  be  folk  in  the  hoose,  Tommy ! ” 

“You  saw  it  was  toom.  The  lamp  had  gone  out 
itself,  or  else  — what ’s  that  ? ” 

It  was  the  unmistakable  closing  of  a door,  softly  but 
firmly.  “The  wind  has  blown  it  to,”  they  tried  to 
persuade  themselves,  though  aware  that  there  was  not 
sufficient  wind  for  this.  After  a long  period  of  still- 
ness they  gathered  courage  to  go  to  the  door  and  shake 
it.  It  was  not  only  shut,  but  locked. 

On  their  way  back  through  the  Double  Dykes  they 
were  silent,  listening  painfully  but  hearing  nothing. 
But  when  they  reached  the  Coffin  Brig  Tommy  said, 
“Dinna  say  nothing  about  this  to  Elspeth,  it  would 
terrify  her;  ” he  was  always  so  thoughtful  for  Elspeth. 


362 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ But  what  do  you  think  o’t  a*  ? ” Corp  said, 
imploringly. 

“I  winna  tell  you  yet,”  replied  Tommy,  cautiously. 

When  they  boarded  the  Ailie , where  the  two  girls 
were  very  glad  to  see  them  again,  the  eight-o’clock  bell 
had  begun  to  ring,  and  thus  Tommy  had  a reasonable 
excuse  for  hurrying  his  crew  to  the  Cuttle  Well  with- 
out saying  anything  of  his  expedition  to  Double  Dykes, 
save  that  he  had  not  seen  Grizel.  At  the  Well  they 
had  not  long  to  wait  before  Mr.  McLean  suddenly 
appeared  out  of  the  mist,  and  to  their  astonishment 
Miss  Ailie  was  leaning  on  his  arm.  She  was  blushing 
and  smiling  too,  in  a way  pretty  to  see,  though  it  spoilt 
the  effect  of  Stroke’s  statement. 

The  first  thing  Stroke  did  was  to  give  up  his  sword 
to  Tommy  and  to  apologize  for  its  being  an  umbrella  on 
account  of  the  unsettled  state  of  the  weather,  and  then 
Corp  led  three  cheers,  the  captain  alone  declining  to 
join  in,  for  he  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  he  was  being 
ridiculed. 

“But  I thought  there  were  five  of  you,”  Mr.  McLean 
said;  “where  is  the  fifth?  ” 

“You  ken  best,”  replied  Tommy,  sulkily,  and  sulky  he 
remained  throughout  the  scene,  because  he  knew  he  was 
not  the  chief  figure  in  it.  Having  this  knowledge  to  de- 
press him,  it  is  to  his  credit  that  he  bore  himself  with  dig- 
nity throughout,  keeping  his  crew  so  well  in  hand  that 
they  dared  not  give  expression  to  their  natural  emotions. 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  RISING 


363 


“As  you  are  aware,  Mr.  Sandys,”  McLean  began 
solemnly,  “I  have  come  here  to  sue  for  pardon.  It  is 
not  yours  to  give,  you  reply,  the  Queen  alone  can 
pardon,  and  I grant  it;  but,  sir,  is  it  not  well  known  to 
all  of  us  that  you  can  get  anything  out  of  her  you 
like  ? ” 

Tommy’s  eyes  roved  suspiciously,  but  the  suppliant 
proceeded  in  the  same  tone.  “ What  are  my  offences  ? 
The  first  is  that  I have  been  bearing  arms  (unwittingly) 
against  the  Throne;  the  second,  that  I have  brought 
trouble  to  the  lady  by  my  side,  who  has  the  proud 
privilege  of  calling  you  her  friend.  But,  Sandys,  such 
amends  as  can  come  from  an  erring  man  I now  offer  to 
make  most  contritely.  Intercede  with  Her  Majesty  on 
my  behalf,  and  on  my  part  I promise  to  war  against 
her  no  more.  I am  willing  to  settle  down  in  the  neigh- 
boring town  as  a law-abiding  citizen,  whom  you  can 
watch  with  eagle  eye.  Say,  what  more  wouldst  thou  of 
the  unhappy  Stuart  ? ” 

But  Tommy  would  say  nothing,  he  only  looked  doubt- 
fully at  Miss  Ailie,  and  that  set  McLean  off  again. 
“You  ask  what  reparation  I shall  make  to  this  lady  ? 
Sandys,  I tell  thee  that  here  also  thou  hast  proved 
too  strong  for  me.  In  the  hope  that  she  would  plead 
for  me  with  you,  I have  been  driven  to  offer  her  my 
hand  in  marriage,  and  she  is  willing  to  take  me  if  thou 
grantest  thy  consent.” 

At  this  Gavinia  jumped  with  joy,  and  then  cried, 


364 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“Up  wi’  her!”  words  whose  bearing  the  school-mis- 
tress fortunately  did  not  understand.  All  save  Tommy 
looked  at  Miss  Ailie,  and  she  put  her  arm  on  Mr. 
McLean’s,  and,  yes,  it  was  obvious,  Miss  Ailie  was  a 
lover  at  the  Cuttle  Well  at  last,  like  so  many  others. 
She  had  often  said  that  the  Den  parade  was  vulgar,  but 
she  never  said  it  again. 

It  was  unexpected  news  to  Tommy,  but  that  was  not 
what  lowered  his  head  in  humiliation  now.  In  the 
general  rejoicing  he  had  been  nigh  forgotten;  even 
Elspeth  was  hanging  on  Miss  Ailie’s  skirts,  Gavinia 
had  eyes  for  none  but  lovers,  Corp  was  rapturously 
examining  five  half-crowns  that  had  been  dropped  into 
his  hands  for  distribution.  Had  Tommy  given  an 
order  now,  who  would  have  obeyed  it  ? His  power  was 
gone,  his  crew  would  not  listen  to  another  word  against 
Mr.  McLean.  ’ 

“Tommy  thought  Mr.  McLean  hated  you!”  said 
Elspeth  to  Miss  Ailie. 

“ It  was  queer  you  made  sic  a mistake ! ” said  Corp  to 
Tommy. 

“ Oh,  the  tattie-doolie ! ” cried  Gavinia. 

So  they  knew  that  Mr.  McLean  had  only  been  speak- 
ing sarcastically;  of  a sudden  they  saw  through  and 
despised  their  captain.  Tears  of  mortification  rose  in 
Tommy’s  eyes,  and  kind-hearted  Miss  Ailie  saw  them, 
and  she  thought  it  was  her  lover’s  irony  that  made  him 
smart.  She  had  said  little  hitherto,  but  now  she  put 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  RISING 


365 


her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  told  them  all  that  she 
did  indeed  owe  the  supreme  joy  that  had  come  to  her  to 
him.  “No,  Gavinia,”  she  said,  blushing,  “I  will  not 
give  you  the  particulars,  but  I assure  you  that  had  it 
not  been  for  Tommy,  Mr,  McLean  would  never  have 
asked  me  to  marry  him.” 

Elspeth  crossed  proudly  to  the  side  of  her  noble 
brother  (who  could  scarcely  trust  his  ears),  and  Gavinia 
cried,  in  wonder,  “ What  did  he  do  ? ” 

Now  McLean  had  seen  Tommy’s  tears  also,  and  being 
a kindly  man  he  dropped  the  satirist  and  chimed  in 
warmly,  “ And  if  I had  not  asked  Miss  Ailie  to  marry 
me  I should  have  lost  the  great  happiness  of  my  life, 
so  you  may  all  imagine  how  beholden  I feel  to 
Tommy,” 

Again  Tommy  was  the  centre-piece,  and  though  these 
words  were  as  puzzling  to  him  as  to  his  crew,  their 
sincerity  was  unmistakable,  and  once  more  his  head 
began  to  waggle  complacently. 

“And  to  show  how  grateful  we  are,”  said  Miss  Ailie, 
“we  are  to  give  him  a — a sort  of  marriage  present. 
We  are  to  double  the  value  of  the  bursary  he  wins  at 
the  university  — ” She  could  get  no  farther,  for  now 
Elspeth  was  hugging  her,  and  Corp  cheering  frantically, 
and  Mr.  McLean  thought  it  necessary  to  add  the  warn- 
ing, “If  he  does  carry  a bursary,  you  understand,  for 
should  he  fail  I give  him  nothing.” 

“Him  fail!  ” exclaimed  Corp,  with  whom  Miss  Ailie 


866 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


of  course  agreed.  “And  he  can  spend  the  money  in 
whatever  way  he  chooses,”  she  said,  “what  will  you  do 
with  it,  Tommy  ? ” 

The  lucky  boy  answered,  instantly,  “I  ’ll  take  Elspeth 
to  Aberdeen  to  bide  with  me,”  and  then  Elspeth  hugged 
him,  and  Miss  Ailie  said,  in  a delighted  aside  to  Mr. 
McLean,  “I  told  you  so,”  and  he,  too,  was  well  pleased. 

“It  was  the  one  thing  needed  to  make  him  work,” 
the  school-mistress  whispered.  “ Is  not  his  love  for  his 
sister  beautiful  ? ” 

McLean  admitted  that  it  was,  but  half-banteringly  he 
said  to  Elspeth : “ What  could  you  do  in  lodgings,  you 
excited  mite  ? ” 

“I  can  sit  and  look  at  Tommy,”  she  answered, 
quickly. 

“But  he  will  be  away  for  hours  at  his  classes.” 

“I  ’ll  sit  at  the  window  waiting  for  him,”  said  she. 

“And  I ’ll  run  back  quick,”  said  Tommy. 

All  this  time  another  problem  had  been  bewildering 
Gavinia,  and  now  she  broke  in,  eagerly:  “But  what 
was  it  he  did  ? I thought  he  was  agin  Mr.  McLean.” 

“And  so  did  I,”  said  Corp. 

“I  cheated  you  grandly,”  replied  Tommy  with  the 
audacity  he  found  so  useful. 

“And  a*  the  time  you  was  pretending  to  be  agin 
him,”  screamed  Gavinia,  “was  you  — was  you  bringing 
this  about  on  the  sly?  ” 

Ton' my  looked  up  into  Mr.  McLean’s  face,  but  could 


END  OF  THE  JACOBITE  RISING 


367 


get  no  guidance  from  it,  so  he  said  nothing;  he  only 
held  his  head  higher  than  ever,  “Oh,  the  clever  lit- 
tle curse!  ” cried  Corp,  and  Elspeth’s  delight  was  as 
ecstatic,  though  differently  worded.  Yet  Gavinia  stuck 
to  her  problem,  “ How  did  you  do  it,  what  was  it  you 
did  ? ” and  the  cruel  McLean  said:  “You  may  tell  her, 
Tommy;  you  have  my  permission.” 

It  would  have  been  an  awkward  position  for  most 
boys,  and  even  Tommy  — but  next  moment  he  said, 
quite  coolly:  “I  think  you  and  me  and  Miss  Ailie 
should  keep  it  to  oursels,  Gavinia ’s  sic  a gossip.” 
“Oh,  how  thoughtful  of  him!”  cried  Miss  Ailie,  the 
deceived,  and  McLean  said:  “How  very  thoughtful!” 
but  now  he  saw  in  a flash  why  Mr.  Cathro  still  had 
hopes  that  Tommy  might  carry  a bursary. 

Thus  was  the  repentant  McLean  pardoned,  and  noth- 
ing remained  for  him  to  do  save  to  show  the  crew  his 
Lair,  which  they  had  sworn  to  destroy.  He  had 
behaved  so  splendidly  that  they  had  forgotten  almost 
that  they  were  the  emissaries  of  justice,  but  not  to 
destroy  the  Lair  seemed  a pity,  it  would  be  such  a 
striking  way  of  bringing  their  adventures  in  the  Den 
to  a close.  The  degenerate  Stuart  read  this  feeling  in 
their  faces,  and  he  was  ready,  he  said,  to  show  them 
his  Lair  if  they  would  first  point  it  out  to  him;  but 
here  was  a difficulty,  for  how  could  they  do  that  ? For 
a moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  negotiations  must  fall 
through;  but  Sandys,  that  captain  of  resource,  invited 


368 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


McLean  to  step  aside  for  a private  conference,  and 
when  they  rejoined  the  others  McLean  said,  gravely, 
that  he  now  remembered  where  the  Lair  was  and  would 
guide  them  to  it. 

They  had  only  to  cross  a plank,  invisible  in  the  mist 
until  they  were  close  to  it,  and  climb  a slippery  bank 
strewn  with  fallen  trees.  McLean,  with  a mock  serious 
air,  led  the  way,  Miss  Ailie  on  his  arm.  Corp  and 
Gavinia  followed,  weighted  and  hampered  by  their  new 
half-crowns,  and  Tommy  and  Elspeth,  in  the  rear, 
whispered  joyously  of  the  coming  life.  And  so,  very 
unprepared  for  it,  they  moved  toward  the  tragedy  of 
the  night 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 

* Do  you  keep  a light  burning  in  the  Lair  ?”  McLean 
turned  to  ask,  forgetting  for  the  moment  that  it  was 
not  their  domicile,  but  his. 

“No,  there  9 s no  light, 99  replied  Corp,  equally  forget- 
ful, but  even  as  he  spoke  he  stopped  so  suddenly  that 
Elspeth  struck  against  him.  For  he  had  seen  a light. 
“This  is  queer!”  he  cried,  and  both  he  and  Gavinia 
fell  back  in  consternation.  McLean  pushed  forward 
alone,  and  was  back  in  a trice,  with  a new  expression 
on  his  face.  “ Are  you  playing  some  trick  on  me  ? 99  he 
demanded  suspiciously  of  Tommy.  “ There  is  some  one 
there ; I almost  ran  against  a pair  of  blazing  eyes.” 

“But  there  9s  nobody;  there  can  be  nobody  there,” 
answered  Tommy,  in  a bewilderment  that  was  obviously 
unfeigned,  “ unless  — unless  — ” He  looked  at  Corp, 
and  the  eyes  of  both  finished  the  sentence.  The  deso- 
late scene  at  Double  Dykes,  which  the  meeting  with 
McLean  and  Miss  Ailie  had  driven  from  their  minds, 
again  confronted  them,  and  they  seemed  once  more  to 
hear  the  whimpering  of  the  Painted  Lady’s  door. 

a*. 


370 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Unless  what?”  asked  the  man,  impatiently,  but 
still  the  two  boys  only  stared  at  each  other.  “The 
Den  9 s no  mous  the  night,”  said  Corp  at  last,  in  a low 
voice,  and  his  unspoken  fears  spread  to  the  womankind, 
so  that  Miss  Ailie  shuddered  and  Elspeth  gripped 
Tommy  with  both  hands  and  Gavinia  whispered,  “Let ’s 
away  hame,  we  can  come  back  in  the  daylight.” 

But  McLean  chafed  and  pressed  upward,  and  next 
moment  a girl’s  voice  was  heard,  crying:  “It  is  no 
business  of  yours;  I won’t  let  you  touch  her.” 

“ Grizel ! ” exclaimed  Tommy  and  his  crew,  simulta- 
neously,  and  they  had  no  more  fear  until  they  were 
inside  the  Lair.  What  they  saw  had  best  be  described 
very  briefly.  A fire  was  burning  in  a corner  of  the 
Lair,  and  in  front  of  it,  partly  covered  with  a sheet, 
lay  the  Painted  Lady,  dead.  Grizel  stood  beside  the 
body  guarding  it,  her  hands  clenched,  her  eyes  very 
strange.  “You  sha’n’t  touch  her!”  she  cried,  passion* 
ately,  and  repeated  it  many  times,  as  if  she  had  lost  the 
power  to  leave  off,  but  Corp  crept  past  her  and  raised 
the  coverlet. 

“She ’s  straikit! ” he  shouted.  “Did  you  do  it  your* 
sel’,  Grizel  ? God  behears,  she  did  it  herseP!  ” 

A very  long  silence  it  seemed  to  be  after  that. 

Miss  Ailie  would  have  taken  the  motherless  girl  to  A 
her  arms,  but  first,  at  Corp’s  discovery,  she  had  drawn 
back  in  uncontrollable  repulsion,  and  Grizel,  about  to 
go  to  her,  saw  it,  and  turned  from  her  to  Tommy  Her 


GRIZEL  STOOD  BY  THE  BODY,  GUARDING  IT 


o/ 


%• 


• — — •••■ 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 


871 


eyes  rested  on  him  beseechingly,  with  a look  he  saw 
only  once  again  in  them  until  she  was  a woman,  but 
his  first  thought  was  not  for  Grizel.  Elspeth  was 
clinging  to  him,  terrified  and  sobbing,  and  he  cried  to 
her,  “ Shut  your  een,”  and  then  led  her  tenderly  away* 
He  was  always  good  to  Elspeth. 

There  was  no  lack  of  sympathy  with  Grizel  when  the 
news  spread  through  the  town,  and  unshod  men  with 
their  gallowses  hanging  down,  and  women  buttoning 
as  they  ran,  hurried  to  the  Den.  But  to  all  the  ques- 
tions put  to  her  and  to  all  the  kindly  offers  made,  as 
the  body  was  carried  to  Double  Dykes,  she  only  rocked 
her  arms,  crying,  “I  don’t  want  anything  to  eat.  I 
shall  stay  all  night  beside  her.  I am  not  frightened  at 
my  mamma.  I won’t  tell  you  why  she  was  in  the  Den. 
I am  not  sure  how  long  she  has  been  dead.  Oh,  what 
do  these  little  things  matter?  ” 

The  great  thing  was  that  her  mamma  should  be 
buried  in  the  cemetery,  and  not  in  unconsecrated  ground 
with  a stake  through  her  as  the  boys  had  predicted,  and 
it  was  only  after  she  was  promised  this  that  Grizel  told 
her  little  tale.  She  had  feared  for  a long  time  that  her 
mamma  was  dying  of  consumption,  but  she  told  no  one, 
because  everybody  was  against  her  and  her  mamma. 
Her  mamma  never  knew  that  she  was  dying,  and  some^ 
times  she  used  to  get  so  much  better  that  Grizel  hoped 
she  would  live  a long  time,  but  that  hope  never  lasted 


372 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


long.  The  reason  she  sat  so  much  with  Ballingall  was 
just  to  find  out  what  doctors  did  to  dying  people  to 
make  them  live  a little  longer,  and  she  watched  his 
straiking  to  be  able  to  do  it  to  her  mamma  when  the 
time  came.  She  was  sure  none  of  the  women  would 
consent  to  straik  her  mamma.  On  the  previous  night, 
she  could  not  say  at  what  hour,  she  had  been  awakened 
by  a cold  wind,  and  so  she  knew  that  the  door  was 
open.  She  put  out  her  hand  in  the  darkness  and  found 
that  her  mamma  was  not  beside  her.  It  had  happened 
before,  and  she  was  not  frightened.  She  had  hidden 
the  key  of  the  door  that  night  and  nailed  down  the 
window,  but  her  mamma  had  found  the  key.  Grizel 
rose,  lit  the  lamp,  and,  having  dressed  hurriedly,  set  off 
with  wraps  to  the  Den.  Her  mamma  was  generally  as 
sensible  as  anybody  in  Thrums,  but  sometimes  she  had 
shaking  fits,  and  after  them  she  thought  it  was  the  time 
of  long  ago.  Then  she  went  to  the  Den  to  meet  a man 
who  had  promised,  she  said,  to  be  there,  but  he  never 
came,  and  before  daybreak  Grizel  could  usually  induce 
her  to  return  home.  Latterly  she  had  persuaded  her 
mamma  to  wait  for  him  in  the  old  Lair,  because  it  was 
less  cold  there,  and  she  had  got  her  to  do  this  last 
night.  Her  mamma  did  not  seem  very  unwell,  but  she 
fell  asleep,  and  she  died  sleeping,  and  then  Grizel  went 
back  to  Double  Dykes  for  linen  and  straiked  her. 

Some  say  in  Thrums  that  a spade  was  found  in  the 
Lair,  but  that  is  only  the  growth  of  later  years.  Grizel 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 


373 


had  done  all  she  could  do,  and  through  the  long  Satur* 
day  she  sat  by  the  side  of  the  body,  helpless  and  unable 
to  cry.  She  knew  that  it  could  not  remain  there  much 
longer,  but  every  time  she  rose  to  go  and  confess,  fear 
of  the  indignities  to  which  the  body  of  her  darling 
mamma  might  be  subjected  pulled  her  back.  The 
boys  had  spoken  idly,  but  hunted  Grizel,  who  knew  so 
much  less  and  so  much  more  than  any  of  them,  believed 
it  all. 

It  was  she  who  had  stood  so  near  Gavinia  in  the 
ruined  house.  She  had  only  gone  there  to  listen  to 
human  voices.  When  she  discovered  from  the  talk  of 
her  friends  that  she  had  left  a light  burning  at  Double 
Dykes  and  the  door  open,  fear  of  the  suspicions  this 
might  give  rise  to  had  sent  her  to  the  house  on  the 
heels  of  the  two  boys,  and  it  was  she  who  had  stolen 
past  them  in  the  mist  to  put  out  the  light  and  lock  the 
door.  Then  she  had  returned  to  her  mamma’s  side. 

The  doctor  was  among  the  listeners,  almost  the  only 
dry-eyed  one,  but  he  was  not  dry-eyed  because  he  felt 
the  artless  story  least.  Again  and  again  he  rose  from 
his  chair  restlessly,  and  Grizel  thought  he  scowled  at 
her  when  he  was  really  scowling  at  himself ; as  soon  as 
she  had  finished  he  cleared  the  room  brusquely  of  all 
intruders,  and  then  he  turned  on  her  passionately. 

“ Think  shame  of  yoursel’,”  he  thundered,  “for 
keeping  me  in  the  dark,”  and  of  course  she  took  his 
words  literally,  though  their  full  meaning  was,  “ I shall 


374 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


scorn  myself  from  this  hour  for  not  having  won  the 
poor  child's  confidence." 

Oh,  he  was  a hard  man,  Grizel  thought,  the  hardest 
of  them  all.  But  she  was  used  to  standing  up  to  hard 
men,  and  she  answered,  defiantly : “ I did  mean  to  tell 
you,  that  day  you  sent  me  with  the  bottle  to  Ballingall, 
I was  waiting  at  the  surgery  door  to  tell  you,  but  you 
were  cruel,  you  said  I was  a thief,  and  then  how  could 
I tell  you  ? " 

This,  too,  struck  home,  and  the  doctor  winced,  but 
what  he  said  was,  “You  fooled  me  fora  whole  week, 
and  the  town  knows  it;  do  you  think  I can  forgive  yov 
for  that  ? " 

“I  don't  care  whether  you  forgive  me,"  replied 
Grizel  at  once. 

“Nor  do  I care  whether  you  care,"  he  rapped  out,  a I 
the  time  wishing  he  could  strike  himself;  “but  I 'm  the 
doctor  of  this  place,  and  when  your  mother  was  ill  you 
should  have  come  straight  to  me.  What  had  I done 
that  you  should  be  afraid  of  me  ? " 

“I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  she  replied,  “I  am  not 
afraid  of  anyone,  but  mamma  was  afraid  of  you  because 
she  knew  you  had  said  cruel  things  about  her,  and  I 
thought  — I won't  tell  you  what  I thought."  But  with 
a little  pressing  she  changed  her  mind  and  told  him. 
“I  was  not  sure  whether  you  would  come  to  see  her, 
though  I asked  you,  and  if  you  came  I knew  you  would 
tell  her  she  was  dying,  and  that  would  have  made  he* 


; 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 


875 


scream.  And  that  is  not  all,  I thought  you  might  tell 
her  that  she  would  be  buried  with  a stake  through 
her ” 

“Oh,  these  blackguard  laddies! ” cried  McQueen, 
clenching  his  fists. 

“And  so  I dared  not  tell  you,”  Grizel  concluded 
calmly;  “I  am  not  frightened  at  you,  but  I was 
frightened  you  would  hurt  ray  dear  darling  mamma,” 
and  she  went  and  stood  defiantly  between  him  and  her 
mother. 

The  doctor  moved  up  and  down  the  room,  crying, 
“How  did  I not  know  of  this,  why  was  I not  told  ?” 
and  he  knew  that  the  fault  had  been  his  own,  and  so 
was  furious  when  Grizel  told  him  so. 

“Yes,  it  is,”  she  insisted,  “you  knew  mamma  was  an 
unhappy  lady,  and  that  the  people  shouted  things 
against  her  and  terrified  her;  and  you  must  have 
known,  for  everybody  knew,  that  she  was  sometimes 
silly  and  wandered  about  all  night,  and  you  are  a big 
strong  man,  and  so  you  should  have  been  sorry  for  her; 
and  if  you  had  been  sorry  you  would  have  come  to  see 
her  and  been  kind  to  her,  and  then  you  would  have 
found  it  all  out.” 

“Have  done,  lassie!”  he  said,  half  angrily,  half 
beseechingly,  but  she  did  not  understand  that  he  was 
suffering,  and  she  went  on,  relentlessly:  “And  you 
knew  that  bad  men  used  to  come  to  see  her  at  night  — 
they  have  not  come  for  a long  time  — but  you  never 


376 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


tried  to  stop  their  coming,  and  I could  have  stopped  it 
if  I had  known  they  were  bad;  but  I did  not  know  at 
first,  and  I was  only  a little  girl,  and  you  should  have 
told  me.” 

“Have  done!”  It  was  all  that  he  could  say,  for  like 
many  he  had  heard  of  men  visiting  the  Painted  Lady 
by  stealth,  and  he  had  only  wondered,  with  other 
gossips,  who  they  were. 

He  crossed  again  to  the  side  of  the  dead  woman, 
“And  BallingalPs  was  the  only  corpse  you  ever  saw 
straiked  ? ” he  said  in  wonder,  she  had  done  her  work 
so  well.  But  he  was  not  doubting  her;  he  knew  already 
that  this  girl  was  clothed  in  truthfulness. 

“Was  it  you  that  kept  this  house  so  clean?”  he 
asked,  almost  irritably,  for  he  himself  was  the  one 
undusted,  neglected-looking  thing  in  it,  and  he  was 
suddenly  conscious  of  his  frayed  wristband  and  of 
buttons  hanging  by  a thread. 

“Yes.” 

“ What  age  are  you  ? ” 

“I  think  I am  thirteen.” 

He  looked  long  at  her,  vindictively  she  thought, 
but  he  was  only  picturing  the  probable  future  of  a 
painted  lady’s  child,  and  he  said  mournfully  to  him- 
self, “ Ay,  it  does  not  even  end  here ; and  that ’s  the 
crowning  pity  of  it.”  But  Grizel  only  heard  him  say, 
“Poor  thing!  ” and  she  bridled  immediately. 

“I  won’t  let  you  pity  me,”  she  cried. 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 


377 


'‘You  dour  brat!”  he  retorted.  "But  you  need  not 
think  you  are  to  have  everything  your  own  way  still. 
I must  get  some  Mony penny  woman  to  take  you  till  the 

funeral  is  over,  and  after  that ” 

"I  won’t  go,”  said  Grizel,  determinedly,  "I  shall 
stay  with  mamma  till  she  is  buried.” 

He  was  not  accustomed  to  contradiction,  and  he 
stamped  his  foot.  "You  shall  do  as  you  are  told,”  he 
said. 

"I  won’t!”  replied  Grizel,  and  she  also  stamped 
her  foot. 

"Very  well,  then,  you  thrawn  tid,  but  at  any  rate 
I’ll  send  in  a woman  to  sleep  with  you.” 

"I  want  no  one.  Do  you  think  I am  afraid  ? ” * 

“ I think  you  will  be  afraid  when  you  wake  up  in  the 
darkness,  and  find  yourself  alone  with  — with  it.” 

“ I sha’n’t,  I shall  remember  at  once  that  she  is  to  be 
buried  nicely  in  the  cemetery,  and  that  will  make  me 
happy.” 

" You  unnatural ” 

* "Besides,  I sha’n’t  sleep,  I have  something  to  do.” 
His  curiosity  again  got  the  better  of  the  doctor. 
"What  can  you  have  to  do  at  such  a time?”  he 
demanded,  and  her  reply  surprised  him: 

" I am  to  make  a dress.” 

"You!” 

"I  have  made  them  before  now,”  she  said  indignantly 
"But  at  such  a time! ” 


378 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ It  is  a black  dress,”  she  cried,  “I  don’t  have  oneP 
I am  to  make  it  out  of  mamma’s.” 

He  said  nothing  for  some  time,  then  “When  did  you 
think  of  this  ? ” 

“I  thought  of  it  weeks  ago,  I bought  crape  at  the 

corner  shop  to  be  ready,  and ” 

She  thought  he  was  looking  at  her  in  horror,  and 
stopped  abruptly.  “I  don’t  care  what  you  think,”  she 
said. 

“What  I do  think,”  he  retorted,  taking  up  his  hat, 
“is,  that  you  are  a most  exasperating  lassie.  If  I bide 
here  another  minute  I believe  you  ’ll  get  round  me.” 

“I  don’t  want  to  get  round  you.” 

“ Then  what  makes  you  say  such  things  ? I question  if 
I ’ll  get  an  hour’s  sleep  to-night  for  thinking  of  you!  ” 

“ I don’t  want  you  to  think  of  me ! ” 

He  groaned.  “What  could  an  untidy,  hardened  old 
single  man  like  me  do  with  you  in  his  house  ? ” he  said, 
“ Oh,  you  little  limmer,  to  put  such  a thought  into  my 
head.” 

“I  never  did!  ” she  exclaimed,  indignantly. 

“It  began,  I do  believe  it  began,”  he  sighed,  “the 
first  time  I saw  you  easying  BallingalPs  pillows.” 

“ What  began  ? ” 

“You  brat,  you  wilful  brat,  don’t  pretend  ignorance* 

You  set  a trap  to  catch  me,  and ” 

“Oh!  ’’  cried  Grizel,  and  she  opened  the  door  quickly 
“Go  away,  you  horrid  man,”  she  said. 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 


879 


He  liked  her  the  more  for  this  regal  action,  and 
therefore  it  enraged  him.  Sheer  anxiety  lest  he  should 
succumb  to  her  on  the  spot  was  what  made  him  bluster 
as  he  strode  off,  and  “That  brat  of  a Grizel,”  or  “The 
Painted  Lady’s  most  unbearable  lassie,”  or  “The  dour 
little  besom  ” was  his  way  of  referring  to  her  in  com- 
pany for  days,  but  if  any  one  agreed  with  him  he  roared 
“Don’t  be  a fool,  man,  she ’s  a wonder,  she ’s  a delight,” 
or  “You  have  a dozen  yourself,  Janet,  but  I wouldna 
neifer  Grizel  for  the  lot  of  them.”  And  it  was  he,  still 
denouncing  her  so  long  as  he  was  contradicted,  who 
persuaded  the  Auld  Licht  Minister  to  officiate  at  the 
funeral.  Then  he  said  to  himself,  “And  now  I wash 
my  hands  of  her,  I have  done  all  that  can  be  expected 
of  me.”  He  told  himself  this  a great  many  times  as  if 
it  were  a medicine  that  must  be  taken  frequently,  and 
Grizel  heard  from  Tommy,  with  whom  she  had  some 
strange  conversations,  that  he  was  going  about  denoun- 
cing her  “up  hill  and  down  dale.”  But  she  did  not 
care,  she  was  so  — so  happy.  For  a hole  was  dug  for 
the  Painted  Lady  in  the  cemetery,  just  as  if  she  had 
been  a good  woman,  and  Mr.  Dishart  conducted  the 
service  in  Double  Dykes  before  the  removal  of  the 
body,  nor  did  he  say  one  word  that  could  hurt  Grizel, 
perhaps  because  his  wife  had  drawn  a promise  from 
him.  A large  gathering  of  men  followed  the  coffin, 
three  of  them  because,  as  you  may  remember,  Grizel 
had  dared  them  to  stay  away,  but  all  the  others  out  of 


880 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


sympathy  with  a motherless  child  who,  as  the  proces 
sion  started,  rocked  her  arms  in  delight  because  her 
mamma  was  being  buried  respectably. 

Being  a woman,  she  could  not  attend  the  funeral,  and 
so  the  chief  mourner  was  Tommy,  as  you  could  see  by 
the  position  he  took  at  the  grave,  and  by  the  white 
bands  Grizel  had  sewn  on  his  sleeves.  He  was  looking 
very  important,  as  if  he  had  something  remarkable  in 
prospect,  but  little  attention  was  given  him  until  the 
cords  were  dropped  into  the  grave,  and  a prayer  offered 
up,  when  he  pulled  Mr.  Dishart’s  coat  and  muttered 
something  about  a paper.  Those  who  had  been  making 
ready  to  depart  swung  round  again,  and  the  minister 
told  him  if  he  had  anything  to  say  to  speak  out. 

“It ’s  a paper,”  Tommy  said,  nervous  yet  elated,  and 
addressing  all,  “ that  Grizel  put  in  the  coffin.  She  told 
me  to  tell  you  about  it  when  the  cords  fell  on  the 
lid.” 

“What  sort  of  a paper?”  asked  Mr.  Dishart, 
frowning. 

“It *s  — it ’s  a letter  to  God,”  Tommy  gasped. 

Nothing  was  to  be  heard  except  the  shovelling  of 
earth  into  the  grave.  “Hold  your  spade,  John,”  the 
minister  said  to  the  gravedigger,  and  then  even  that 
sound  stopped.  “Go  on,”  Mr.  Dishart  signed  to  the 
boy. 

“Grizel  doesna  believe  her  mother  has  much  chance 
of  getting  to  heaven,”  Tommy  said,  “and  she  wrote  the 


A LETTER  TO  GOD 


381 


ietter  to  God,  so  that  when  he  opens  the  coffins  on  the 
last  day  he  will  find  it  and  read  about  them.” 

“ About  whom  ? ” asked  the  stern  minister. 

“About  Grizel’s  father,  for  one.  She  doesna  know 
his  name,  but  the  Painted  Lady  wore  a locket  wi’  a 
picture  of  him  on  her  breast,  and  it ’s  buried  wi’  her, 
and  Grizel  told  God  to  look  at  it  so  as  to  know  him. 
She  thinks  her  mother  will  be  damned  for  having  her, 
and  that  it  winna  be  fair  unless  God  damns  her  father 
too.” 

“Go  on,  ” said  Mr.  Dishart. 

“ There  was  three  Thrums  men  — 1 think  they  were 
gentlemen  — ” Tommy  continued,  almost  blithely,  “ that 
used  to  visit  the  Painted  Lady  in  the  night  time  afore 
she  took  ill.  They  wanted  Grizel  to  promise  no  to  tell 
about  their  going  to  Double  Dykes,  and  she  promised 
because  she  was  ower  innocent  to  know  what  they  went 
for  — but  their  names  are  in  the  letter.” 

A movement  in  the  crowd  was  checked  by  the 
minister’s  uplifted  arm.  “Go  on,”  he  cried. 

“She  wouldna  tell  me  who  they  were,  because  it 
would  have  been  breaking  her  promise,”  said  Tommy, 
“ but  ” — he  looked  around  him  inquisitively  — “ but 
they  ’re  here  at  the  funeral.” 

The  mourners  were  looking  sideways  at  each  other, 
some  breathing  hard,  but  none  dared  to  speak  before 
the  minister.  He  stood  for  a long  time  in  doubt,  but 
at  last  he  signed  to  John  to  proceed  with  the  filling  in 


382 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


of  the  grave.  Contrary  to  custom  all  remained.  Not 
until  the  grave  was  again  level  with  the  sward  did  Mr. 
Dishart  speak,  and  then  it  was  with  a gesture  that 
appalled  his  hearers.  “This  grave,”  he  said,  raising 
his  arm,  “is  locked  till  the  day  of  judgment.” 

Leaving  him  standing  there,  a threatening  figure, 
they  broke  into  groups  and  dispersed,  walking  slowly 
at  first,  and  then  fast,  to  tell  their  wives. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


AN  ELOPEMENT 

The  solitary  child  remained  at  Double  Dykes,  await* 
ing  the  arrival  of  her  father,  for  the  Painted  Lady’s 
manner  of  leaving  the  world  had  made  such  a stir  that 
the  neighbors  said  he  must  have  heard  of  it,  even 
though  he  were  in  London,  and  if  he  had  the  heart  of  a 
stone  he  could  not  desert  his  bairn.  They  argued  thus 
among  themselves,  less  as  people  who  were  sure  of  it 
than  to  escape  the  perplexing  question,  what  to  do  with 
Grizel  if  the  man  never  claimed  her  ? and  before  her 
they  spoke  of  his  coming  as  a certainty,  because  it 
would  be  so  obviously  the  best  thing  for  her.  In  the 
meantime  they  overwhelmed  her  with  offers  of  every- 
thing she  could  need,  which  was  kindly  but  not  essen- 
tial, for  after  the  funeral  expenses  had  been  paid 
(Grizel  insisted  on  paying  them  herself)  she  had  still 
several  gold  pieces,  found  in  her  mamma’s  beautiful 
tortoise-shell  purse,  and  there  were  nearly  twenty 
pounds  in  the  bank. 

But  day  after  day  passed,  and  the  man  had  not  come. 
Perhaps  he  resented  the  Painted  Lady’s  ostentatious 


384 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


death;  which,  if  he  was  nicely  strung,  must  have  jarred 
upon  his  nerves.  He  could  hardly  have  acknowledged 
Grizel  now  without  publicity  being  given  to  his  private 
concerns.  Or  he  may  never  have  heard  of  the  Painted 
Lady’s  death,  or  if  he  read  of  it,  he  may  not  have  known 
which  painted  lady  in  particular  she  was.  Or  he  may 
have  married,  and  told  his  wife  all  and  she  had  for- 
given him,  which  somehow,  according  to  the  plays  and 
the  novels,  cuts  the  past  adrift  from  a man  and  enables 
him  to  begin  again  at  yesterday.  Whatever  the  reason, 
Grizel’s  father  was  in  no  hurry  to  reveal  himself,  and 
though  not  to  her,  among  themselves  the  people  talked 
of  the  probability  of  his  not  coming  at  all.  She  could 
not  remain  alone  at  Double  Dykes,  they  all  admitted, 
but  where,  then,  should  she  go  ? No  fine  lady  in  need 
of  a handmaid  seemed  to  think  a painted  lady’s  child 
would  suit;  indeed,  Grizel  at  first  sight  had  not  the 
manner  that  attracts  philanthropists.  Once  only  did 
the  problem  approach  solution;  a woman  in  the  Den- 
head  was  willing  to  take  the  child  because  (she 
expressed  it)  as  she  had  seven  she  might  as  well  have 
eight,  but  her  man  said  no,  he  would  not  have  his 
bairns  fil’t.  Others  would  have  taken  her  cordially  for 
a few  weeks  or  months,  had  they  not  known  that  at  the 
end  of  this  time  they  would  be  blamed,  even  by  them- 
selves, if  they  let  her  go.  All,  in  short,  were  eager  t6 
show  her  kindness  if  one  would  give  her  a home,  but 
where  was  that  one  to  be  found  ? 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


385 


Much  of  this  talk  came  to  Grizel  through  Tommy, 
and  she  told  him  in  the  house  of  Double  Dykes  that 
people  need  not  trouble  themselves  about  her,  for  she 
had  no  wish  to  stay  with  them.  It  was  only  charity 
they  brought  her;  no  one  wanted  her  for  herself.  “It 
is  because  I am  a child  of  shame,  ” she  told  him,  dry- 
eyed. 

He  fidgeted  on  his  chair,  and  asked,  “What ’s  that  ?” 
not  very  honestly. 

“I  don’t  know,”  she  said,  “no  one  will  tell  me,  but 
it  is  something  you  can’t  love.” 

“You  have  a terrible  wish  to  be  loved,”  he  said  in 
wonder,  and  she  nodded  her  head  wistfully.  “ That  is 
not  what  I wish  for  most  of  all,  though,”  she  told  him, 
and  when  he  asked  what  she  wished  for  most  of  all, 
she  said,  “To  love  somebody;  oh,  it  would  be  sweet!” 

To  Tommy,  most  sympathetic  of  mortals,  she  seemed 
a very  pathetic  little  figure,  and  tears  came  to  his  eyes 
as  he  surveyed  her;  he  could  always  cry  very  easily. 

“If  it  wasna  for  Elspeth,”  he  began,  stammering,  “I 
could  love  you,  but  you  winna  let  a body  do  onything 
on  the  sly.” 

It  was  a vague  offer,  but  she  understood,  and  became 
the  old  Grizel  at  once.  “I  don’t  want  you  to  love  me,” 
she  said  indignantly;  “I  don’t  think  you  know  how  to 
love.” 

“Neither  can  you  know,  then,”  retorted  Tommy, 
huffily,  “for  there’s  nobody  for  you  to  love.” 

25 


386 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ Yes,  there  is,”  she  said,  “and  I do  love  her  and  she 
loves  me.” 

“ But  wha  is  she  ? ” 

“That  girl.”  To  his  amazement  she  pointed  to  her 
own  reflection  in  the  famous  mirror  the  size  of  which 
had  scandalized  Thrums.  Tommy  thought  this  affec- 
tiou  for  herself  barely  respectable,  but  he  dared  not  say 
so  lest  he  should  be  put  to  the  door.  “ I love  her  ever 
so  much,”  Grizel  went  on,  “and  she  is  so  fond  of  me, 
she  hates  to  see  me  unhappy.  Don’t  look  so  sad,  dear- 
est, darlingest,”  she  cried  vehemently;  “I  love  you, 
you  know,  oh,  you  sweet!”  and  with  each  epithet  she 
kissed  her  reflection  and  looked  defiantly  at  the  boy. 

“But  you  canna  put  your  arms  round  her  and  hug 
her,”  he  pointed  out  triumphantly,  and  so  he  had  the 
last  word  after  all.  Unfortunately  Grizel  kept  this  side 
of  her,  new  even  to  Tommy,  hidden  from  all  others,  and 
her  unresponsiveness  lost  her  many  possible  friends. 
Even  Miss  Ailie,  who  now  had  a dressmaker  in  the  blue- 
and-white  room,  sitting  on  a bedroom  chair  and  sewing 
for  her  life  (oh,  the  agony  — or  is  it  the  rapture  ? — of 
having  to  decide  whether  to  marry  in  gray  with  beads 
or  brown  plain  to  the  throat),  even  sympathetic  Miss 
Ailie,  having  met  with  several  rebuffs,  said  that  Grizel 
had  a most  unaffectionate  nature,  and,  “ Ay,  she ’s 
hardy,”  agreed  the  town,  “but  it’s  better,  maybe,  for 
hersel\”  There  are  none  so  unpopular  as  the  silent 


ones. 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


387 


If  only  Miss  Ailie,  or  others  like  her,  could  have 
slipped  noiselessly  into  Double  Dykes  at  night,  they 
would  have  found  Grizel’s  pillow  wet.  But  she  would 
have  heard  them  long  before  they  reached  the  door, 
and  jumped  to  the  floor  in  terror,  thinking  it  was  her 
father’s  step  at  last.  For,  unknown  to  anyone,  his 
coming,  which  the  town  so  anxiously  desired,  was  her 
one  dread.  She  had  told  Tommy  what  she  should  say 
to  him  if  he  came,  and  Tommy  had  been  awed  and 
delighted,  they  were  such  scathing  things;  probably, 
had  the  necessity  arisen,  she  would  have  found  courage 
to  say  them,  but  they  were  made  up  in  the  daytime, 
and  at  night  they  brought  less  comfort.  Then  she 
listened  fearfully  and  longed  for  the  morning,  wild 
ideas  coursing  through  her  head  of  flying  before  he 
could  seize  her;  but  when  morning  came  it  brought 
other  thoughts,  as  of  the  strange  remarks  she  had  heard 
about  her  mamma  and  herself  during  the  past  few  days. 
To  brood  over  these  was  the  most  unhealthy  occupation 
she  could  find,  but  it  was  her  only  birthright.  Many 
of  the  remarks  came  unguardedly  from  lips  that  had  no 
desire  to  pain  her,  others  fell  in  a rage  because  she 
would  not  tell  what  were  the  names  in  her  letter  to 
God.  The  words  that  troubled  her  most,  perhaps,  were 
the  doctor’s,  “She  is  a brave  lass,  but  it  must  be  in 
her  blood.”  They  were  not  intended  for  her  ears,  but 
she  heard.  “What  did  he  mean?”  she  asked  Miss 
Ailie,  Mrs.  Dishart,  and  others  who  came  to  see  her, 


388 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


and  they  replied  awkwardly,  that  it  had  only  been  a 
doctor’s  remark,  of  no  importance  to  people  who  were 
well.  “ Then  why  are  you  crying  ? ” she  demanded, 
looking  them  full  in  the  face  with  eyes  there  was  no 
deceiving. 

“ Oh,  why  is  everyone  afraid  to  tell  me  the  truth ! ” 
she  would  cry,  beating  her  palms  in  anguish. 

She  walked  into  McQueen’s  surgery  and  said,  “ Could 
you  not  cut  it  out  ? ” so  abruptly  that  he  wondered  what 
she  was  speaking  about. 

“The  bad  thing  that  is  in  my  blood,”  she  explained. 
“Do  cut  it  out,  I sha’n’t  scream.  I promise  not  to 
scream.” 

He  sighed  and  answered,  “If  it  could  be  cut  out, 
lassie,  I would  try  to  do  it,  though  it  was  the  most 
dangerous  of  operations.” 

She  looked  in  anguish  at  him.  “There  are  cleverer 
doctors  than  you,  are  n’t  there  ? ” she  asked,  and  he 
was  not  offended. 

“Ay,  a hantle  cleverer,”  he  told  her,  “but  none  so 
clever  as  that.  God  help  you,  bairn,  if  you  have  to  do 
it  yourself  some  day.” 

“ Can  I do  it  myself  ? ” she  cried,  brightening.  “ I 
shall  do  it  now.  Is  it  done  with  a knife  ? ” 

“With  a sharper  knife  than  a surgeon’s,”  he  answered, 
and  then,  regretting  he  had  said  so  much,  he  tried  to 
cheer  her.  But  that  he  could  not  do.  “You  are  afraid 
to  tell  me  the  truth  too,”  she  said,  and  when  she  went 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


389 


away  lie  was  very  sorry  for  her,  but  not  so  sorry  as  she 
was  for  herself.  “ When  I am  grown  up,”  she  announced 
dolefully,  to  Tommy,  “ I shall  be  a bad  woman,  just 
like  mamma. 

“Not  if  you  try  to  be  good,”  he  said. 

“Yes,  I shall.  There  is  something  in  my  blood  that 
will  make  me  bad,  and  I so  wanted  to  be  good.  Oh! 
oh!  oh!” 

She  told  him  of  the  things  she  had  heard  people  say, 
but  though  they  perplexed  him  almost  as  much  as  her, 
he  was  not  so  hopeless  of  learning  their  meaning,  for 
here  was  just  the  kind  of  difficulty  he  liked  to  over- 
come. “I  *11  get  it  out  o’  Blinder,”  he  said,  with  con- 
fidence in  his  ingenuity,  “and  then  I *11  tell  you  what 
he  says.”  But  however  much  he  might  strive  to  do  so, 
Tommy  could  never  repeat  anything  without  giving  it 
frills  and  other  adornment  of  his  own  making,  and 
Grizel  knew  this.  “I  must  hear  what  he  says  myself,” 
she  insisted. 

“But  he  winna  speak  plain  afore  you.” 

“Yes,  he  will,  if  he  does  not  know  I am  there.” 

The  plot  succeeded,  though  only  partially,  for  so 
quick  was  the  blind  man’s  sense  of  hearing  that  in  the 
middle  of  the  conversation  he  said,  sharply,  “Some- 
body’s ahint  the  dyke!”  and  he  caught  Grizel  by  the 
shoulder.  “It’s  the  Painted  Lady’s  lassie,”  he  said 
when  she  screamed,  and  he  stormed  against  Tommy  for 
taking  such  advantage  of  his  blindness.  But  to  her  he 


390 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


said,  gently,  “I  daresay  you  egged  him  on  to  this, 
meaning  well,  but  you  maun  forget  most  of  what  I ’ve 
said,  especially  about  being  in  the  blood.  I spoke  in 
haste,  it  doesna  apply  to  the  like  of  you.” 

“ Yes,  it  does,”  replied  Grizel,  and  all  that  had  been 
revealed  to  her  she  carried  hot  to  the  surgery,  Tommy 
stopping  at  the  door  in  as  great  perturbation  as  her- 
self. “I  know  what  being  in  the  blood  is  now,”  she 
said,  tragically,  to  McQueen,  “ there  is  something  about 
it  in  the  Bible.  I am  the  child  of  evil  passions,  and 
that  means  that  I was  born  with  wickedness  in  my 
blood.  It  is  lying  sleeping  in  me  just  now  because  I 
am  only  thirteen,  and  if  I can  prevent  its  waking  when 
I am  grown  up  I shall  always  be  good,  but  a very  little 
thing  will  waken  it;  it  wants  so  much  to  be  wakened, 
and  if  it  is  once  wakened  it  will  run  all  through  me, 
and  soon  I shall  be  like  mamma.” 

It  was  all  horribly  clear  to  her,  and  she  would  not 
wait  for  words  of  comfort  that  could  only  obscure  the 
truth.  Accompanied  by  Tommy,  who  said  nothing,  but 
often  glanced  at  her  fascinated  yet  alarmed,  as  if 
expecting  to  see  the  ghastly  change  come  over  her  at 
any  moment  — for  he  was  as  convinced  as  she,  and  had 
the  livelier  imagination  — she  returned  to  Monypenny 
to  beg  of  Blinder  to  tell  her  one  thing  more.  And  he 
told  her,  not  speaking  lightly,  but  because  his  words 
contained  a solemn  warning  to  a girl  who,  he  thought, 
might  need  it. 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


891 


“What  sort  of  thing  would  be  likeliest  to  waken  the 
wickedness  ? ” she  asked,  holding  her  breath  for  the 
answer. 

“Keeping  company  wi*  ill  men,”  said  Blinder, 
gravely. 

“Like  the  man  who  made  mamma  wicked,  like  my 
father  ? ” 

“Ay,”  Blinder  replied,  “fly  from  the  like  of  him,  my 
lass,  though  it  should  be  to  the  other  end  of  the  world.” 

She  stood  quite  still,  with  a most  sorrowful  face,  and 
then  ran  away,  ran  so  swiftly  that  when  Tommy,  who 
had  lingered  for  a moment,  came  to  the  door  she  was 
already  out  of  sight.  Scarcely  less  excited  than  she, 
he  set  off  for  Double  Dykes,  his  imagination  in  such  a 
blaze  that  he  looked  fearfully  in  the  pools  of  the  burn 
for  a black  frock.  But  Grizel  had  not  drowned  herself  5 
she  was  standing  erect  in  her  home,  like  one  at  bay, 
her  arms  rigid,  her  hands  clenched,  and  when  he  pushed 
open  the  door  she  screamed. 

“Grizel,”  said  the  distressed  boy,  “did  you  think  I 
was  him  come  for  you  ? ” 

“Yes!” 

“Maybe  he  ’ll  no  come.  The  folk  think  he  winna 
come.” 

“ But  if  he  does,  if  he  does ! ” 

“ Maybe  you  needna  go  wi*  him  unless  you  *re 
willing  ? ” 

“ I must,  he  can  compel  me , because  he  is  my  father, 


392 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Oh!  oh!  oh!”  She  lay  down  on  the  bed,  and  on  hei 
eyes  there  slowly  formed  the  little  wells  of  water 
Tommy  was  to  know  so  well  in  time.  He  stood  by  her 
side  in  anguish;  for  though  his  own  tears  came  at  the 
first  call,  he  could  never  face  them  in  others. 

“Grizel,”  he  said  impulsively,  “ there ’s  just  one 
thing  for  you  to  do.  You  have  money,  and  you  maun 
run  away  afore  he  comes ! ” 

She  jumped  up  at  that.  “I  have  thought  of  it,”  she 
answered  “ I am  always  thinking  about  it,  but  how  can 
I,  oh,  now  can  I ? It  would  not  be  respectable.” 

“ To  run  away  ? ” 

“To  go  by  myself,”  said  the  poor  girl,  “and  I do 
want  to  be  respectable,  it  would  be  sweet.” 

In  some  ways  Tommy  was  as  innocent  as  she,  and 
her  reasoning  seemed  to  him  to  be  sound.  She  was 
looking  at  him  wofully,  and  entreaty  was  on  her  face; 
all  at  once  he  felt  what  a lonely  little  crittur  she  was, 
and,  in  a burst  of  manhood,  — 

“But,  dinna  prig  wi’  me  to  go  with  you,”  he  said, 
struggling. 

44 1 have  not!”  she  answered,  panting,  and  she  had 
not  in  words,  but  the  mute  appeal  was  still  on  her  face. 
“Grizel,”  he  cried,  “I  ’ll  come!  ” 

Then  she  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  breast, 
saying,  “Oh,  Tommy,  I am  so  fond  of  you!  ” 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  admitted  it,  and  his 
head  wagged  well  content,  as  if  saying  for  him,  “I 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


393 


knew  you  would  understand  me  some  day.”  But  next 
moment  the  haunting  shadow  that  so  often  overtook 
him  in  the  act  of  soaring  fell  cold  upon  his  mind,  and 
“ I maun  take  Elspeth ! ” he  announced,  as  if  Elspeth 
had  him  by  the  leg. 

“ You  sha’n’t!  ” said  Grizel ’s  face. 

“She  winna  let  go,”  said  Tommy’s. 

Grizel  quivered  from  top  to  toe.  “I  hate  Elspeth!” 
she  cried,  with  curious  passion,  and  the  more  moral 
Tommy  was  ashamed,  of  her. 

“You  dinna  ken  how  fond  o’  her  I am,”  he  said. 

“Yes,  I do.” 

“Then  you  shouldna  want  me  to  leave  her  and  go 
wi’  you.” 

“That  is  why  I want  it,”  Grizel  blurted  out,  and  now 
we  are  all  ashamed  of  her.  But  fortunately  Tommy 
did  not  see  how  much  she  had  admitted  in  that  hasty 
cry,  and  as  neither  would  give  way  to  the  other  they 
parted  stiffly,  his  last  words  being  “Mind,  it  wouldna 
be  respectable  to  go  by  yoursel’,”  and  hers  “I  don’t 
care,  I ’m  going.”  Nevertheless  it  was  she  who  slept 
easily  that  night,  and  he  who  tossed  about  almost  until 
cockcrow.  She  had  only  one  ugly  dream,  of  herself 
wandering  from  door  to  door  in  a strange  town,  asking 
for  lodgings,  but  the  woman  who  answered  her  weary 
knocks  — there  were  many  doors  but  it  was  invariably 
the  same  woman  — always  asked,  suspiciously,  “Is 
Tommy  with  you?”  and  Grizel  shook  her  head,  and 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


then  the  woman  drove  her  away,  perceiving  that  she 
was  not  respectable.  This  woke  her,  and  she  feared 
the  dream  would  come  true,  but  she  clenched  her  fists 
in  the  darkness,  saying,  “I  can’t  help  it,  I am  going, 
and  I won’t  have  Elspeth,”  and  after  that  she  slept  in 
peace.  In  the  meantime  Tommy  the  imaginative  — but 
that  night  he  was  not  Tommy,  rather  was  he  Grizel, 
for  he  saw  her  as  we  can  only  see  ourselves.  Now  she 
— or  he,  if  you  will  — had  been  caught  by  her  father 
and  brought  back,  and  she  turned  into  a painted  thing 
like  her  mother.  She  brandished  a brandy  bottle  and 
a stream  of  foul  words  ran  lightly  from  her  mouth  and 
suddenly  stopped,  because  she  was  wailing  "I  wanted 
so  to  be  good,  it  is  sweet  to  be  good!”  Now  a man 
with  a beard  was  whipping  her,  and  Tommy  felt  each 
lash  on  his  own  body,  so  that  he  had  to  strike  out,  and 
he  started  up  in  bed,  and  the  horrible  thing  was  that  he 
had  never  been  asleep.  Thus  it  went  on  until  early 
morning,  when  his  eyes  were  red  and  his  body  was 
damp  with  sweat. 

But  now  again  he  was  Tommy,  and  at  first  even  to 
think  of  leaving  Elspeth  was  absurd.  Yet  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  leave  Aaron,  who  disliked  him  so  much. 
To  disappear  without  a word  would  be  a fine  revenge, 
for  the  people  would  say  that  Aaron  must  have  ill- 
treated  him,  and  while  they  searched  the  pools  of  the 
burn  for  his  body,  Aaron  would  be  looking  on  trembling, 
perhaps  with  a policeman’s  hand  on  his  shoulder. 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


395 


Tommy  saw  the  commotion  as  vividly  as  if  the  searchers 
were  already  out  and  he  in  a tree  looking  down  at  them ; 
but  in  a second  he  also  heard  Elspeth  skirling,  and 
down  he  flung  himself  from  the  tree,  crying,  “I  ’m  here, 
Elspeth,  dinna  greet;  oh,  what  a brute  I ’ve  been!” 
No,  he  could  not  leave  Elspeth,  how  wicked  of  Grizel 
to  expect  it  of  him ; she  was  a bad  one,  Grizel. 

But  having  now  decided  not  to  go,  his  sympathy  with 
the  girl  who  was  to  lose  him  returned  in  a rush,  and 
before  he  went  to  school  he  besought  her  to  — it 
amounted  to  this,  to  be  more  like  himself;  that  is,  he 
begged  her  to  postpone  her  departure  indefinitely,  not 
to  make  up  her  mind  until  to-morrow  — or  the  day  after 
— or  the  day  after  that.  He  produced  reasons,  as  that 
she  had  only  four  pounds  and  some  shillings  now, 
while  by  and  by  she  might  get  the  Painted  Lady’s 
money,  at  present  in  the  bank;  also  she  ought  to  wait 
for  the  money  that  would  come  to  her  from  the  roup  of 
the  furniture.  But  Grizel  waived  all  argument  aside; 
secure  in  her  four  pounds  and  shillings  she  was  deter- 
mined to  go  to-night,  for  her  father  might  be  here 
to-morrow;  she  was  going  to  London  because  it  was  so 
big  that  no  one  could  ever  find  her  there,  and  she  would 
never,  never  write  to  Tommy  to  tell  him  how  she  fared, 
lest  the  letter  put  her  father  on  her  track.  He  implored 
her  to  write  once,  so  that  the  money  owing  her  might 
be  forwarded,  but  even  this  bribe  did  not  move  her,  and 
he  set  off  for  school  most  gloomily. 


396 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Cathro  was  specially  aggravating  that  day,  nagged 
him,  said  before  the  whole  school  that  he  was  a num- 
skull, even  fell  upon  him  with  the  tawse,  and  for  no 
earthly  reason  except  that  Tommy  would  not  bother  his 
head  with  the  oratio  obliqua.  If  there  is  any  kind  of 
dominie  more  maddening  than  another,  it  is  the  one 
who  will  not  leave  you  alone  (ask  any  thoughtful  boy). 
How  wretched  the  lot  of  him  whose  life  is  cast  among 
fools  not  capable  of  understanding  him ; what  was  that 
saying  about  entertaining  angels  unawares  ? London  ! 
Grizel  had  more  than  sufficient  money  to  take  two 
there,  and  once  in  London,  a wonder  such  as  himself 
was  bound  to  do  wondrous  things.  Now  that  he 
thought  of  it,  to  become  a minister  was  abhorrent  to 
him ; to  preach  would  be  rather  nice,  oh,  what  things 
he  should  say  (he  began  to  make  them  up,  and  they 
were  so  grand  that  he  almost  wept),  but  to  be  good 
after  the  sermon  was  over,  always  to  be  good  (even 
when  Elspeth  was  out  of  the  way),  never  to  think  queer 
unsayable  things,  never  to  say  Stroke,  never,  in  short, 
to  “ find  a way  ” — he  was  appalled.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  Elspeth 

So  even  Elspeth  did  not  need  him.  When  he  went 
home  from  school,  thinking  only  of  her,  he  found  that 
she  had  gone  to  the  Auld  Licht  manse  to  play  with 
little  Margaret.  Very  well,  if  such  was  her  wish,  he 
would  go.  Nobody  wanted  him  except  Grizel.  Per- 
haps when  news  came  from  London  of  his  greatness, 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


397 


they  would  think  more  of  him.  He  would  send  a letter 
to  Thrums,  asking  Mr.  McLean  to  transfer  his  kindness 
to  Elspeth.  That  would  show  them  what  a noble  fellow 
he  was.  Elspeth  would  really  benefit  by  his  disappear- 
ance; he  was  running  away  for  Elspeth’s  sake.  And 
when  he  was  great,  which  would  be  in  a few  years,  he 
would  come  back  for  her. 

But  no,  he  — . The  dash  represents  Tommy  swither- 
ing  once  more,  and  he  was  at  one  or  other  end  of  the 
s wither  all  day.  When  he  acted  sharply  it  was  always 
on  impulse,  and  as  soon  as  the  die  was  cast  he  was  a 
philosopher  with  no  regrets.  But  when  he  had  time  to 
reflect,  he  jumped  miserably  back  and  forward.  So 
when  Grizel  was  ready  to  start,  he  did  not  know  in  the 
least  what  he  meant  to  do. 

She  was  to  pass  by  the  Cuttle  Well,  on  her  way  to 
Tilliedrum,  where  she  would  get  the  London  train,  he 
had  been  told  coldly,  and  he  could  be  there  at  the  time 
— if  he  liked.  The  time  was  seven  o’clock  in  the  even- 
ing on  a week-day,  when  the  lovers  are  not  in  the  Den, 
and  Tommy  arrived  first.  When  he  stole  through  the 
small  field  that  separates  Monypenny  from  the  Den,  his 
decision  was  — but  on  reaching  the  Cuttle  Well,  its 
nearness  to  the  uncanny  Lair  chilled  his  courage,  and 
now  he  had  only  come  to  bid  her  good-by.  She  was 
very  late,  and  it  suddenly  struck  him  that  she  had 
already  set  off.  “ After  getting  me  to  promise  to  go 
wi’  her!”  he  said  to  himself  at  once. 


398 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


But  Grizel  came;  she  was  only  late  because  it  had 
taken  her  such  a long  time  to  say  good-by  to  the  girl  in 
the  glass.  She  was  wearing  her  black  dress  and  lustre 
jacket,  and  carried  in  a bundle  the  few  treasures  she 
was  taking  with  her,  and  though  she  did  not  ask  Tommy 
if  he  was  coming,  she  cast  a quick  look  round  to  see  if 
he  had  a bundle  anywhere,  and  he  had  none.  That 
told  her  his  decision,  and  she  would  have  liked  to  sit 
down  for  a minute  and  cry,  but  of  course  she  had  too 
much  pride,  and  she  bade  him  farewell  so  promptly 
that  he  thought  he  had  a grievance.  “ I *m  coming  as- 
far  as  the  toll-house  wi*  you,”  he  said,  sulkily,  and  so 
they  started  together. 

At  the  toll-house  Grizel  stopped.  “ It ’s  a fine 
night,”  said  Tommy,  almost  apologetically,  “1*11  go 
as  far  as  the  quarry  o*  Benshee.” 

When  they  came  to  the  quarry  he  said,  “ We  *re  no 
half-roads  yet,  I *11  go  wi*  you  as  far  as  Padanarum.” 
Now  she  began  to  wonder  and  to  glance  at  him  side- 
ways, which  made  him  more  uncomfortable  than  ever. 
To  prevent  her  asking  him  a question  for  which  he  had 
no  answer,  he  said,  “ What  makes  you  look  so  little  the 
day  ? ” 

“I  am  not  looking  little,”  she  replied,  greatly 
annoyed,  “ I am  looking  taller  than  usual.  I have  let 
down  my  frock  three  inches  so  as  to  look  taller  — and 
older.” 

“You  look  younger  than  ever,”  he  said  cruelly. 


AN  ELOPEMENT 


399 


“I  don’t!  I look  fifteen,  and  when  you  are  fifteen 
you  grow  up  very  quickly.  Do  say  I look  older ! ” she 
entreated  anxiously.  “It  would  make  me  feel  more 
respectable.” 

But  he  shook  his  head  with  surprising  obstinacy,  and 
then  she  began  to  remark  on  his  clothes,  which  had 
been  exercising  her  curiosity  ever  since  they  left  the 
Den. 

“ How  is  it  that  you  are  looking  so  stout  ? ” she 
asked. 

“ I feel  cold,  but  you  are  wiping  the  sweat  off  your 
face  every  minute.” 

It  was  true,  but  he  would  have  preferred  not  to 
answer.  Grizel’s  questions,  however,  were  all  so 
straight  in  the  face,  that  there  was  no  dodging  them. 
“I  have  on  twa  suits  o’  clothes,  and  a’  my  sarks,”  he 
had  to  admit,  sticky  and  sullen. 

She  stopped,  but  he  trudged  on  doggedly.  She  ran 
after  him  and  gave  his  arm  an  impulsive  squeeze  with 
both  hands,  “ Oh,  you  sweet ! ” she  said. 

“No,  I ’m  not,”  he  answered  in  alarm. 

“ Yes  you  are!  You  are  coming  with  me.” 

“I ’m  not!  ” 

“ Then  why  did  you  put  on  so  many  clothes  ? ” 

Tommy  swithered  wretchedly  on  one  foot.  “ I didna 
put  them  on  to  come  wi’  you,”  he  explained,  “I  just 
put  them  on  in  case  I should  come  wi’  you.” 

“ And  are  you  not  coming  ? ” 


400 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ How  can  I ken  ? ” 

“But  you  must  decide,”  Grizel  almost  screamed. 

“I  needna,”  lie  stammered,  “till  we  ’re  at  Tilliedrum. 
Let  ’s  speak  about  some  other  thing.” 

She  rocked  her  arms,  crying,  “ It  is  so  easy  to  make 
up  one’s  mind.” 

“ It ’s  easy  to  you  that  has  just  one  mind, ” he  re- 
torted with  spirit,  “ but  if  you  had  as  many  minds  as 
I have  — !” 

On  they  went. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


THERE  IS  SOME  ONE  TO  LOVE  GRIZEL  AT  LAST 

Corp  was  sitting  on  the  Monypenny  dyke,  spitting 
on  a candlestick  and  then  rubbing  it  briskly  against 
his  orange-colored  trousers.  The  doctor  passing  in 
his  gig,  both  of  them  streaked,  till  they  blended,  with 
the  mud  of  Look-about-you  road  (through  which  you 
should  drive  winking  rapidly  all  the  way),  saw  him 
and  drew  up. 

“ Well,  how  is  Grizel  ? ” he  asked.  He  had  avoided 
Double  Dykes  since  the  funeral,  but  vain  had  been  his 
attempts  to  turn  its  little  inmate  out  of  his  mind ; there 
she  was,  against  his  will,  and  there,  he  now  admitted 
to  himself  angrily  or  with  a rueful  sigh,  she  seemed 
likely  to  remain  until  someone  gave  her  a home.  It 
was  an  almost  ludicrous  distrust  of  himself  that  kept 
him  away  from  her ; he  feared  that  if  he  went  to  Double 
Dykes  her  lonely  face  would  complete  his  conquest. 
For  oh,  he  was  reluctant  to  be  got  the  better  of,  as  he 
expressed  it  to  himself.  Maggy  Ann,  his  maid,  was 
the  ideal  woman  for  a bachelor’s  house.  When  she 
saw  him  coming  she  fled,  guiltily  concealing  the  hated 

Sft 


402 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


duster;  when  he  roared  at  her  for  announcing  that 
dinner  was  ready,  she  left  him  to  eat  it  half  cold;  when 
he  spilled  matches  on  the  floor  and  then  stepped  upon 
them  and  set  the  rug  on  fire,  she  let  him  tell  her  that 
she  should  be  more  careful;  she  did  not  carry  off  his 
favorite  boots  to  the  cobbler  because  they  were  down  at 
heel ; she  did  not  fling  up  her  arms  in  horror  and  cry 
that  she  had  brushed  that  coat  just  five  minutes  ago; 
nor  did  she  count  the  treasured  “dottels”  on  the 
mantelpiece  to  discover  how  many  pipes  he  had  smoked 
since  morning;  nor  point  out  that  he  had  stepped  over 
the  door-mat;  nor  line  her  shelves  with  the  new 
Mentor;  nor  give  him  up  his  foot  for  sitting  half  the 
night  with  patients  who  could  not  pay  — in  short,  he 
knew  the  ways  of  the  limmers,  and  Maggy  Ann  was  a 
jewel.  But  it  had  taken  him  a dozen  years  to  bring  her 
to  this  perfection,  and  well  he  knew  that  the  curse  of 
Eve,  as  he  called  the  rage  for  the  duster,  slumbered  in 
her  rather  than  was  extinguished.  With  the  volcanic 
Grizel  in  the  house,  Maggy  Ann  would  once  more  burst 
into  flame,  and  the  horrified  doctor  looked  to  right  of 
him,  to  left  of  him,  before  him  and  behind  him,  and 
everywhere  he  seemed  to  see  two  new  brooms  bearing 
down.  No,  the  brat,  he  would  not  have  her;  the  besom, 
why  did  she  bother  him;  the  witches  take  her,  for 
putting  the  idea  into  his  head,  nailing  it  into  his  head 
indeed.  But  nevertheless  he  was  forever  urging  other 
peonl*  to  a^o^t  her,  assuring  them  that  they  would  find 


SOME  ONE  TO  LOVE  GRIZEL 


40S 


her  a treasure,  and  even  shaking  his  staff  at  them  when 
they  refused;  and  he  was  so  uneasy  if  he  did  not  hear 
of  her  several  times  a day  that  he  made  Monypenny 
the  way  to  and  from  everywhere,  so  that  he  might  drop 
into  artful  talk  with  those  who  had  seen  her  last. 
Corp,  accordingly,  was  not  surprised  at  his  “How  is 
Grizel?”  now,  and  he  answered,  between  two  spits, 
“She’s  fine;  she  gave  me  this.” 

It  was  one  of  the  Painted  Lady’s  silver  candlesticks, 
and  the  doctor  asked  sharply  why  Grizel  had  given  it 
to  him. 

“She  said  because  she  liked  me,”  Corp  replied,  won- 
deringly.  “She  brought  it  to  my  auntie’s  door  soon 
after  I loused,  and  put  it  into  my  hand:  ay,  and  she 
had  a blue  shawl,  and  she  telled  me  to  give  it  to 
Gavinia,  because  she  liked  her  too.” 

“What  else  did  she  say  ? ” 

Corp  tried  to  think.  “ I said,  ‘ This  cows,  Grizel, 
but  thank  you  kindly,  ’ ” he  answered,  much  pleased 
with  his  effort  of  memory,  but  the  doctor  interrupted 
him  rudely.  “Nobody  wants  to  hear  what  you  said, 
you  dottrel;  what  more  did  she  say?”  And  thus 
encouraged  Corp  remembered  that  she  had  said  she 
hoped  he  would  not  forget  her.  “What  for  should  I 
forget  her  when  I see  her  ilka  day  ? ” he  asked,  and 
was  probably  about  to  divulge  that  this  was  his  reply  to 
her,  but  without  waiting  for  more,  McQueen  turned  his 
beast’s  head  and  drove  to  the  entrance  to  the  Double 


404 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Dykes.  Here  he  alighted  and  hastened  up  the  path  on 
foot,  but  before  he  reached  the  house  he  met  Dite 
Deuchars  taking  his  ease  beneath  a tree,  and  Dite  could 
tell  him  that  Grizel  was  not  at  home.  “ But  there ’s 
somebody  in  Double  Dykes,”  he  said,  “though  I kenna 
wha  could  be  there  unless  it  *s  the  ghost  of  the  Painted 
Lady  herseP.  About  an  hour  syne  I saw  Grizel  come 
out  o’  the  house,  carrying  a bundle,  but  she  hadna  gone 
many  yards  when  she  turned  round  and  waved  her 
hand  to  the  east  window.  I couldna  see  wha  was  at  it, 
but  there  maun  have  been  somebody,  for  first  the  crittur 
waved  to  the  window  and  next  she  kissed  her  hand  to 
it,  and  syne  she  went  on  a bit,  and  syne  she  ran  back 
close  to  the  window  and  nodded  and  flung  more  kisses, 
and  back  and  forrit  she  went  a curran  times  as  if  she 
could  hardly  tear  herseP  awaJ.  4 Wha ’s  that  you  ’re  so 
chief  wP  ? ’ I speired  when  she  came  by  me  at  last,  but 
she  just  said,  4 I won’t  tell  you/  in  her  dour  wy,  and 
she  hasna  come  back  yet.” 

Whom  could  she  have  been  saying  good-by  to  so 
demonstratively,  and  whither  had  she  gone  ? With  a 
curiosity  that  for  the  moment  took  the  place  of  his 
uneasiness,  McQueen  proceeded  to  the  house,  the  door 
of  which  was  shut  but  not  locked.  Two  glances  con- 
vinced him  that  there  was  no  one  here,  the  kitchen  was 
as  he  had  seen  it  last,  except  that  the  long  mirror  had 
been  placed  on  a chair  close  to  the  east  window.  The 
doctor  went  to  the  outside  of  the  window,  and  looked 


HE  RAN  THEM  DOWN  WITHIN  A MILE  OF  TILLIEDRUM 


* mm 


SOME  ONE  TO  LOYE  GRIZEL 


405 


in,  he  could  see  nothing  but  his  own  reflection  in  the 
mirror,  and  was  completely  puzzled.  But  it  was  no 
time,  he  felt,  for  standing  there  scratching  his  head, 
when  there  was  reason  to  fear  that  the  girl  had  gone. 
Gone  where  ? He  saw  his  selfishness  now,  in  a glaring 
light,  and  it  fled  out  of  him  pursued  by  curses. 

He  stopped  at  Aaron's  door  and  called  for  Tommy, 
but  Tommy  had  left  the  house  an  hour  ago.  “Gone 
with  her,  the  saeket;  he  very  likely  put  her  up  to  this,” 
the  doctor  muttered,  and  the  surmise  seemed  justified 
when  he  heard  that  Grizel  and  Tommy  had  been  seen 
passing  the  Fens.  That  they  were  running  away  had 
never  struck  those  who  saw  them,  and  McQueen  said 
nothing  of  his  suspicions,  but  off  he  went  in  his  gig  on 
their  track  and  ran  them  down  within  a mile  of  Tillie- 
drum.  Grizel  scurried  on,  thinking  it  was  undoubtedly 
her  father,  but  in  a few  minutes  the  three  were  convers- 
ing almost  amicably,  the  doctor's  first  words  had  been 
so  “sweet.” 

Tommy  explained  that  they  were  out  for  a walk, 
but  Grizel  could  not  lie,  and  in  a few  passionate  sen- 
tences she  told  McQueen  the  truth.  He  had  guessed  the 
greater  part  of  it,  and  while  she  spoke  he  looked  so 
sorry  for  her,  such  a sweet  change  had  come  over  his 
manner,  that  she  held  his  hand. 

“But  you  must  go  no  farther,”  he  told  her,  “I  am  to 
take  you  back  with  me,”  and  that  alarmed  her.  “ I won  t; 
go  back,”  she  said,  determinedly,  “he  might  come.” 


406 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ There  fs  little  fear  of  his  coming,”  McQueen  assured 
her,  gently,  “but  if  he  does  come  I give  you  my  solemn 
word  that  I won’t  let  him  take  you  away  unless  you 
want  to  go.” 

Even  then  she  only  wavered,  but  he  got  her  altogether 
with  this:  “And  should  he  come,  just  think  what  a 
piece  of  your  mind  you  could  give  him,  with  me  stand- 
ing by  holding  your  hand.” 

“ Oh,  would  you  do  that  ? ” she  asked,  brightening. 

“I  would  do  a good  deal  to  get  the  chance,”  he  said. 

“I  should  just  love  it!”  she  cried.  “I  shall  come 
now,”  and  she  stepped  light-heartedly  into  the  gig, 
where  the  doctor  joined  her.  Tommy,  who  had  been  in 
the  background  all  this  time,  was  about  to  jump  up 
beside  them,  but  McQueen  waved  him  back,  saying 
maliciously,  “ There  ’s  just  room  for  two,  my  man,  so  I 
won’t  interfere  with  your  walk.” 

Tommy,  in  danger  of  being  left,  very  hot  and  stout 
and  sulky,  whimpered,  “What  have  I done  to  anger 
you  ? ” 

“You  were  going  with  her,  you  blackguard,”  replied 
McQueen,  not  yet  in  full  possession  of  the  facts,  for 
whether  Tommy  was  or  was  not  going  with  her  no  one 
can  ever  know. 

“If  I was,”  cried  the  injured  boy,  “it  wasna  because 
I wanted  to  go,  it  was  because  it  wouldna  have  been 
respectable  for  her  to  go  by  hersel’.” 

The  doctor  had  already  started  his  shalt,  but  at  these 


SOME  ONE  TO  LOVE  GRIZEL 


407 


astonishing  words  he  drew  up  sharply.  “Say  that 
again,”  he  said,  as  if  thinking  that  his  ears  must  have 
deceived  him,  and  Tommy  repeated  his  remark,  won- 
dering at  its  effect. 

“And  you  tell  me  that  you  were  going  with  her,”  the 
doctor  repeated,  “to  make  her  enterprise  more  respect- 
able ? ” and  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

“Of  course  I was,”  replied  Tommy,  resenting  his 
surprise  at  a thing  so  obvious ; and  “ That  ’s  why  I 
wanted  him  to  come,”  chimed  in  Grizel. 

Still  McQueen’s  glance  wandered  from  the  boy  to  the 
girl  and  from  the  girl  to  the  boy.  “You  are  a pair!  ” 
he  said  at  last,  and  he  signed  in  silence  to  Tommy  to 
mount  the  gig.  But  his  manner  had  alarmed  Grizel, 
ever  watching  herself  lest  she  should  stray  into  the 
ways  of  bad  ones,  and  she  asked  anxiously,  “There 
was  nothing  wrong  in  it,  was  there  ? ” 

“No,”  the  doctor  answered  gravely,  laying  his  hand 
on  hers,  “no,  it  was  just  sweet.” 

What  McQueen  had  to  say  to  her  was  not  for 
Tommy’s  ears,  and  the  conversation  was  but  a make- 
shift until  they  reached  Thrums,  where  he  sent  the  boy 
home,  recommending  him  to  hold  his  tongue  about  the 
escapade  (and  Tommy  of  course  saw  the  advisability  of 
keeping  it  from  Elspeth) ; but  he  took  Grizel  into  his 
parlor  and  set  her  down  on  the  buffet  stool  by  the  fire, 
where  he  surveyed  her  in  silence  at  his  leisure.  Then 


408 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


he  tried  her  in  his  old  armchair,  then  on  his  sofa;  then 
he  put  the  Mentor  into  her  hand  and  told  her  to  hold  it 
as  if  it  were  a duster,  then  he  sent  her  into  the  passage, 
with  instructions  to  open  the  door  presently  and  announce 
“ Dinner  is  ready ; ” then  he  told  her  to  put  some  coals 
on  the  fire;  then  he  told  her  to  sit  at  the  window,  first 
with  an  open  book  in  her  hand,  secondly  as  if  she  was 
busy  knitting;  and  all  these  things  she  did  wondering 
exceedingly,  for  he  gave  no  explanation  except  the 
incomprehensible  one,  “ I want  to  see  what  it  would  be 
like.” 

She  had  told  him  in  the  gig  why  she  had  changed  the 
position  of  the  mirror  at  Double  Dykes,  it  was  to  let 
“ that  darling  ” wave  good-by  to  her  from  the  window ; 
and  now  having  experimented  with  her  in  his  parlor  he 
drew  her  toward  his  chair,  so  that  she  stood  between 
his  knees.  And  he  asked  her  if  she  understood  why  he 
had  gone  to  Double  Dykes. 

“ Was  it  to  get  me  to  tell  you  what  were  the  names  in 
the  letter  ? ” she  said,  wistfully.  “ That  is  what  every- 
one asks  me,  but  I won’t  tell,  no,  I won’t ; ” and  she 
closed  her  mouth  hard. 

He,  too,  would  have  liked  to  hear  the  names,  and  he 
sighed,  it  must  be  admitted,  at  sight  of  that  determined 
mouth,  but  he  could  say  truthfully,  “Your  refusal  to 
break  your  promise  is  one  of  the  things  that  I admire 
in  you.” 

Admire!  Grizel  could  scarce  believe  that  this  gift 


SOME  ONE  TO  LOVE  GRIZEL 


409 


was  for  her.  “You  don’t  mean  that  you  really  like 
me  ? ” she  faltered,  but  she  felt  sure  all  the  time  that 
he  did,  and  she  cried,  “Oh,  but  why,  oh,  how  can 
you ! ” 

“For  one  reason,”  he  said,  “because  you  are  so 
good.” 

“Good!  Oh!  oh!  oh!”  She  clapped  her  hands 
joyously. 

“And  for  another  — because  you  are  so  brave.” 

“But  I am  not  really  brave,”  she  said  anxiously, 
yet  resolved  to  hide  nothing,  “I  only  pretend  to  be 
brave,  I am  often  frightened,  but  I just  don’t  let  on.” 

That,  he  told  her,  is  the  highest  form  of  bravery,  but 
Grizel  was  very,  very  tired  of  being  brave,  and  she 
insisted  impetuously,  “I  don’t  want  to  be  brave,  I want 
to  be  afraid,  like  other  girls.” 

“Ay,  it ’s  your  right,  you  little  woman,”  he  answered, 
tenderly,  and  then  again  he  became  mysterious.  He 
kicked  off  his  shoes  to  show  her  that  he  was  wearing 
socks  that  did  not  match.  “ I just  pull  on  the  first  that 
come  to  hand,”  he  said  recklessly. 

“Oh!”  cried  Grizel. 

On  his  dusty  book-shelves  he  wrote,  with  his  finger, 
“Not  dusted  since  the  year  One.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” she  cried. 

He  put  his  fingers  through  his  gray,  untidy  hair. 
“That ’s  the  only  comb  I have  that  is  at  hand  when  I 
want  it,”  he  went  on,  regardless  of  her  agony. 


410 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“All  the  stud-holes  in  my  shirts,”  he  said,  “are  now 
so  frayed  and  large  that  the  studs  fall  out,  and  I find 
them  in  my  socks  at  night.” 

Oh!  oh!  he  was  killing  her,  he  was,  but  what  cared 
he?  “Look  at  my  clothes,”  said  the  cruel  man,  “I 
read  when  I ’m  eating,  and  I spill  so  much  gravy  that 
— that  we  boil  my  waistcoat  once  a month,  and  make 
soup  of  it!  ” 

To  Grizel  this  was  the  most  tragic  picture  ever  drawn 
by  man,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  time  to  desist.  “And 
it ’s  all,”  he  said,  looking  at  her  sadly,  “it ’s  all  because 
1 am  a lonely  old  bachelor  with  no  womankind  to  look 
after  him,  no  little  girl  to  brighten  him  when  he  comes 
home  dog-tired,  no  one  to  care  whether  his  socks  are  in 
holes  and  his  comb  behind  the  wash-stand , no  soft  hand 
to  soothe  his  brow  when  it  aches,  no  one  to  work  for, 
no  one  to  love,  many  a one  to  close  the  old  bachelor’s 
eyes  when  he  dies,  but  none  to  drop  a tear  for  him,  no 
one  to ” 

“Oh!  oh!  oh!  That  is  just  like  me.  Oh!  oh!” 
cried  Grizel,  and  he  pulled  her  closer  to  him,  saying, 
“The  more  reason  we  should  join  thegither;  Grizel,  if 
you  don’t  take  pity  on  me,  and  come  and  bide  with  me 
and  be  my  little  housekeeper,  the  Lord  Almighty  only 
knows  what  is  to  become  of  the  old  doctor.” 

At  this  she  broke  away  from  him,  and  stood  far  back 
pressing  her  arms  to  her  sides,  and  she  cried,  “It  is  not 
out  of  charity  you  ask  me,  is  it  ? ” and  then  she  went  a 


SOME  ONE  TO  LOVE  GRIZEL 


411 


little  nearer.  “You  would  not  say  it  if  it  was  n’t  true, 
would  you  ? ” 

“No,  my  dawtie,  it  ’s  true,”  he  told  her,  and  if  he 
had  been  pitying  himself  a little,  there  was  an  end  of 
that  now. 

She  remembered  something  and  cried  joyously, 
“And  you  knew  what  was  in  my  blood  before  you  asked 
me,  so  I don’t  need  to  tell  you,  do  I ? And  you  are  not 
afraid  that  I shall  corrupt  you,  are  you  ? And  you 
don’t  think  it  a pity  I did  n’t  die  when  I was  a tiny 
baby,  do  you  ? Some  people  think  so,  I heard  them 
say  it.” 

“ What  would  have  become  of  me  ? ” was  all  he  dared 
answer  in  words,  but  he  drew  her  to  him  again,  and 
when  she  asked  if  it  was  true,  as  she  had  heard  some 
woman  say,  that  in  some  matters  men  were  all  alike, 
and  did  what  that  one  man  had  done  to  her  mamma, 
he  could  reply  solemnly,  “No,  it  is  not  true;  it ’s  a lie 
that  has  done  more  harm  than  any  war  in  any  century.” 

She  sat  on  his  knee,  telling  him  many  things  that 
had  come  recently  to  her  knowledge  but  were  not  so 
new  to  him.  The  fall  of  woman  was  the  subject,  a 
strange  topic  for  a girl  of  thirteen  and  a man  of  sixty. 
They  don’t  become  wicked  in  a moment,  he  learned;  if 
they  are  good  to  begin  with,  it  takes  quite  a long  time 
to  make  them  bad.  Her  mamma  was  good  to  begin 
with.  “I  know  she  was  good,  because  when  she 
thought  she  was  the  girl  she  used  to  be,  she  looked 


412 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


sweet  and  said  lovely  things.”  The  way  the  men  do  is 
this,  they  put  evil  thoughts  into  the  woman’s  head, 
and  say  them  often  to  her,  till  she  gets  accustomed  to 
them,  and  thinks  they  cannot  be  bad  when  the  man  she 
loves  likes  them,  and  it  is  called  corrupting  the  mind. 

“And  then  a baby  comes  to  them,”  Grizel  said 
softly,  “ and  it  is  called  a child  of  shame.  I am  a child 
of  shame.” 

He  made  no  reply,  so  she  looked  up,  and  his  face  was 
very  old  and  sad.  “I  am  sorry  too,”  she  whispered, 
but  still  he  said  nothing,  and  then  she  put  her  fingers 
on  his  eyes  to  discover  if  they  were  wet,  and  they  were 
wet.  And  so  Grizel  knew  that  there  was  someone  who 
loved  her  at  last. 

The  mirror  was  the  only  article  of  value  that  Grizel 
took  with  her  to  her  new  home;  everything  else  was 
rouped  at  the  door  of  Double  Dykes;  Tommy,  who 
should  have  been  at  his  books,  acting  as  auctioneer’s 
clerk  for  sixpence.  There  are  houses  in  Thrums  where 
you  may  still  be  told  who  got  the  bed  and  who  the 
rocking-chair,  and  how  Nether  Drumgley’s  wife  dared 
him  to  come  home  without  the  spinet;  but  it  is  not  by 
the  sales  that  the  roup  is  best  remembered.  Curiosity 
took  many  persons  into  Double  Dykes  that  day,  and  in 
the  room  that  had  never  been  furnished  they  saw  a 
mournful  stack  of  empty  brandy  bottles,  piled  there  by 
the  auctioneer  who  had  found  them  in  every  corner, 
beneath  the  bed,  in  presses,  in  boxes,  whither  they  had 


SOME  ONE  TO  LOVE  GRIZEL 


413 


been  thrust  by  Grizel’s  mamma,  as  if  to  conceal  their 
number  from  herself.  The  counting  of  these  bottles 
was  a labor,  but  it  is  not  even  by  them  that  the  roup  is 
remembered.  Among  them  some  sacrilegious  hands 
found  a bundle  of  papers  with  a sad  blue  ribbon  round 
them.  They  were  the  Painted  Lady’s  love-letters,  the 
letters  she  had  written  to  the  man.  Why  or  how  they 
had  come  back  to  her  no  one  knew. 

Most  of  them  were  given  to  Grizel,  but  a dozen  or 
more  passed  without  her  leave  into  the  kists  of  various 
people,  where  often  since  then  they  have  been  consulted 
by  swains  in  need  of  a pretty  phrase;  and  Tommy’s 
school-fellows,  the  very  boys  and  girls  who  hooted  the 
Painted  Lady,  were  in  time  — so  oddly  do  things  turn 
out  — to  be  among  those  whom  her  letters  taught  how 
to  woo.  Where  the  kists  did  not  let  in  the  damp  or 
careless  fingers,  the  paper  long  remained  clean,  the  ink 
but  little  faded.  Some  of  the  letters  were  creased,  as 
if  they  had  once  been  much  folded,  perhaps  for  slipping 
into  secret  hiding-places,  but  none  of  them  bore  any 
address  or  a date.  “To  my  beloved,”  was  sometimes 
written  on  the  cover,  and  inside  he  was  darling  or 
beloved  again.  So  no  one  could  have  arranged  them  in 
the  order  in  which  they  were  written,  though  there  was 
a three-cornered  one  which  said  it  was  the  first.  There 
was  a violet  in  it,  clinging  to  the  paper  as  if  they  were 
fond  of  each  other,  and  Grizel’s  mamma  had  written, 
“ The  violet  is  me,  hiding  in  a corner  because  I am  so 


414 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


happy.”  The  letters  were  in  many  moods,  playful, 
reflective,  sad,  despairing,  arch,  but  all  were  written  in 
an  ecstasy  of  the  purest  love,  and  most  of  them  were 
cheerful,  so  that  you  seemed  to  see  the  sun  dancing  on 
the  paper  while  she  wrote,  the  same  sun  that  afterwards 
showed  up  her  painted  cheeks.  Why  they  came  back 
to  her  no  one  ever  discovered,  any  more  than  how  she 
who  slipped  the  violet  into  that  three-cornered  one  and 
took  it  out  to  kiss  again  and  wrote,  “ It  is  my  first  love- 
letter,  and  I love  it  so  much  I am  reluctant  to  let  it  go,” 
became  in  a few  years  the  derision  of  the  Double  Dykes. 
Some  of  these  letters  may  be  in  old  kists  still,  but 
whether  that  is  so  or  not,  they  alone  have  passed  the 
Painted  Lady’s  memory  from  one  generation  to  another, 
and  they  have  purified  it,  so  that  what  she  was  died 
with  her  vile  body,  and  what  she  might  have  been  lived 
on,  as  if  it  were  her  true  self. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SPEAK 

Miss  Alison  Cray  presents  her  compliments  to 

and  requests  the  favor  of  their  company  at  her  marriage 
with  Mr.  Ivie  McLean,  on  January  8th,  at  six  o’clock.” 

Tommy  in  his  Sabbath  clothes,  with  a rose  from  the 
Dovecot  hot-house  for  buttonhole  (which  he  slipped  into 
his  pocket  when  he  saw  other  boys  approaching),  de- 
livered them  at  the  doors  of  the  aristocracy,  where, 
by  the  way,  he  had  been  a few  weeks  earlier,  with  * 
another  circular, 

“ Miss  Alison  Cray  being  about  to  give  up  school,  has 
pleasure  in  stating  that  she  has  disposed  of  the  good- 
will of  her  establishment  to  Miss  Jessy  Langlands  and 
Miss  S.  Oram,  who  will  enter  upon  their  scholastic 
duties  on  January  9th,  at  Roods  Cottage,  where  she 
most  cordially,”  and  so  on. 

Here  if  the  writer  dared  (but  you  would  be  so  angry) 
he  would  introduce  at  the  length  of  a chapter  two 
brand-new  characters,  the  Misses  Langlands  and  Oram, 
who  suddenly  present  themselves  to  him  in  the  most 
sympathetic  light.  Miss  Ailie  has  been  safely  stowed 


m 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


to  port,  but  their  little  boat  is  only  setting  sail,  and 
they  are  such  young  ones,  neither  out  of  her  teens,  that 
he  would  fain  turn  for  a time  from  her  to  them.  Twelve 
pounds  they  paid  for  the  good-will,  and,  oh,  the  excit- 
ing discussions,  oh,  the  scraping  to  get  the  money 
together!  If  little  Miss  Langlands  had  not  been  so 
bold,  big  Miss  Oram  must  have  drawn  back,  but  if 
Miss  Oram  had  not  had  that  idea  about  a paper  parti- 
tion, of  what  avail  the  boldness  of  Miss  Langlands  ? 
How  these  two  trumps  of  girls  succeeded  in  hiring  the 
Painted  Lady’s  spinet  from  Nether  Drumgley  — in  the 
absence  of  his  wife,  who  on  her  way  home  from  buying 
a cochin-china  met  the  spinet  in  a cart  — how  the 
mother  of  one  of  them,  realizing  in  a klink  that  she  was 
common  no  more,  henceforth  wore  black  caps  instead  of 
mutches  (but  the  father  dandered  on  in  the  old  plebeian 
way),  what  the  enterprise  meant  to  a young  man  in 
distant  Newcastle,  whose  favorite  name  was  Jessy,  how 
the  news  travelled  to  still  more  distant  Canada,  where 
a family  of  emigrants  which  had  left  its  Sarah  behind 
in  Thrums,  could  talk  of  nothing  else  for  weeks  — it  is 
hard  to  have  to  pass  on  without  dwelling  on  these 
things,  and  indeed  — but  pass  on  we  must. 

The  chief  figure  at  the  wedding  of  Miss  Ailie  was 
undoubtedly  Mr.  T.  Sandys.  When  one  remembers  his 
prominence,  it  is  difficult  to  think  that  the  wedding 
could  have  taken  place  without  him.  It  was  he  (in  his 
Sabbath  clothes  again,  and  now  flaunting  his  buttonhole 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SPEAK 


417 


brazenly)  who  in  insulting  language  ordered  the  rabble 
to  stand  back  there.  It  was  he  who  dashed  out  to  the 
’Sosh  to  get  a hundred  ha’pennies  for  the  fifty  pennies 
Mr.  McLean  had  brought  to  toss  into  the  air.  It  was 
he  who  went  round  in  the  carriage  to  pick  up  the  guests 
lind  whisked  them  in  and  out,  and  slammed  the  door, 
fend  saw  to  it  that  the  minister  was  not  kept  waiting, 
and  warned  Miss  Ailie  that  if  she  did  not  come  now 
they  should  begin  without  her.  It  was  he  who  stood 
near  her  with  a handkerchief  ready  in  his  hand  lest  she 
took  to  crying  on  her  new  brown  silk  (Miss  Ailie  was 
married  in  brown  silk  after  all).  As  a crown  to  his 
audacity,  it  was  he  who  told  Mr.  Dishart,  in  the  middle 
of  a noble  passage,  to  mind  the  lamp. 

These  duties  were  Dr.  McQueen’s,  the  best  man, 
but  either  demoralized  by  the  bridegroom,  who  went  all 
to  pieces  at  the  critical  moment  and  was  much  more 
nervous  than  the  bride,  or  in  terror  lest  Grizel,  who 
had  sent  him  to  the  wedding  speckless  and  most  beau- 
tifully starched,  should  suddenly  appear  at  the  door 
and  cry,  “Oh,  oh,  take  your  fingers  off  your  shirt!”  he 
was  through  other  till  the  knot  was  tied,  and  then  it 
was  too  late,  for  Tommy  had  made  his  mark.  It  was 
Tommy  who  led  the  way  to  the  school-room,  where  the 
feast  was  ready,  it  was  Tommy  who  put  the  guests  in 
their  places  (even  the  banker  cringed  to  him),  it  was 
Tommy  who  winked  to  Mr.  Dishart  as  a sign  to  say 
grace.  As  you  will  readily  believe,  Miss  Ailie  could 

27 


418 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


not  endure  the  thought  of  excluding  her  pupils  from 
the  festivities,  and  they  began  to  arrive  as  soon  as  the 
tables  had  been  cleared  of  all  save  oranges  and  tarts 
and  raisins.  Tommy,  waving  Gavinia  aside,  showed 
them  in,  and  one  of  them,  curious  to  tell,  was  Corp,  in 
borrowed  blacks,  and  Tommy  shook  hands  with  him 
and  called  him  Mr.  Shiach,  both  new  experiences  to 
Corp,  who  knocked  over  a table  in  his  anxiety  to  behave 
himself,  and  roared  at  intervals  “ Do  you  see  the  little 
deevil ! ” and  bit  his  warts  and  then  politely  swallowed 
the  blood. 

As  if  oranges  and  tarts  and  raisins  were  not  enough, 
came  the  Punch  and  Judy  show,  Tommy’s  culminating 
triumph.  All  the  way  to  Redlintie  had  Mr.  McLean 
sent  for  the  Punch  and  Judy  show,  and  nevertheless 
there  was  a probability  of  no  performance,  for  Miss 
Ailie  considered  the  show  immoral.  Most  anxious  was 
she  to  give  pleasure  to  her  pupils,  and  this  she  knew 
was  the  best  way,  but  how  could  she  countenance  an 
entertainment  which  was  an  encouragement  to  every 
form  of  vice  and  crime  ? To  send  these  children  to  the 
Misses  Langlands  and  Oram,  fresh  from  an  introduction 
to  the  comic  view  of  murder!  It  could  not  be  done, 
now  could  it  ? Mr.  McLean  could  make  no  sugges- 
tion. Mr.  Dishart  thought  it  would  be  advisable  to 
substitute  another  entertainment;  was  there  not  a game 
called  “The  Minister’s  Cat”?  Mrs.  Dishart  thought 
they  should  have  the  show  and  risk  the  consequences, 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SMAK 


419 


So  also  thought  Dr.  McQueen.  The  banker  was  con- 
sulted, but  saw  no  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  nor  did  the 
lawyer,  nor  did  the  Misses  Finlayson.  Then  Tommy  ap- 
peared on  the  scene,  and  presently  retired  to  find  a way. 

He  found  it.  The  performance  took  place,  and  none 
of  the  fun  was  omitted,  yet  neither  Miss  Ailie  — tuts, 
tubs  Mrs.  McLean  — nor  Mr.  Dishart  could  disapprove. 
Punch  did  chuck  his  baby  out  at  the  window  (roars  of 
laughter)  in  his  jovial  time-honored  way,  but  imme- 
diately thereafter  up  popped  the  showman  to  say,  “ Ah, 
my  dear  boys  and  girls,  let  this  be  a lesson  to  you  never 
to  destroy  your  offsprings.  Oh,  shame  on  Punch,  for 
to  do  the  wicked  deed;  he  will  be  catched  in  the  end 
and  serve  him  right.”  Then  when  Mr.  Punch  had 
wolloped  his  wife  with  the  stick,  amid  thunders  of 
applause,  up  again  bobbed  the  showman,  “ Ah,  my  dear 
boys  and  girls,  what  a lesson  is  this  we  sees,  what 
goings  on  is  this  ? He  have  bashed  the  head  of  her  as 
should  ha’  been  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  he  does  not 
care  a — he  does  not  care;  but  mark  my  words,  his 
home  it  will  now  be  desolate,  no  more  shall  she  meet  him 
at  his  door  with  kindly  smile,  he  have  done  for  her  quite, 
and  now  he  is  a hunted  man.  Oh,  be  warned  by  his 
sad  igsample,  and  do  not  bash  the  head  of  your  loving 
wife.”  And  there  was  a great  deal  more  of  the  same, 
and  simple  Mrs,  McLean  almost  wept  tears  of  joy 
because  her  favorite’s  good  heart  had  suggested  these 
improvements. 


420 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Grizel  was  not  at  the  wedding;  she  was  invited,  but 
could  not  go  because  she  was  in  mourning.  But  only 
her  parramatty  frock  was  in  mourning,  for  already  she 
had  been  the  doctor’s  housekeeper  for  two  full  months, 
and  her  father  had  not  appeared  to  plague  her  (he  never 
did  appear,  it  may  be  told  at  once),  and  so  how  could 
her  face  be  woful  when  her  heart  leapt  with  gladness  ? 
Never  had  prisoner  pined  for  the  fields  more  than  this 
reticent  girl  to  be  frank,  and  she  poured  out  her  inmost 
self  to  the  doctor,  so  that  daily  he  discovered  something 
beautiful  (and  exasperating)  about  womanhood.  And 
it  was  his  love  for  her  that  had  changed  her.  “ You  do 
love  me,  don’t  you?”  she  would  say,  and  his  answer 
might  be  “I  have  told  you  that  fifty  times  already;  ” to 
which  she  would  reply,  gleefully,  “ That  is  not  often,  I 
say  it  all  day  to  myself.” 

Exasperating  ? Yes,  that  was  the  word.  Long 
before  summer  came,  the  doctor  knew  that  he  had 
given  himself  into  the  hands  of  a tyrant.  It  was  idle 
his  saying  that  this  irregularity  and  that  carelessness 
were  habits  that  had  become  part  of  him;  she  only 
rocked  her  arms  impatiently,  and  if  he  would  not  stand 
still  to  be  put  to  rights,  then  she  would  follow  him 
along  the  street,  brushing  him  as  he  walked,  a sight 
that  was  witnessed  several  times  while  he  was  in  the 
mutinous  stage. 

“Talk  about  masterfulness,”  he  would  say,  when  she 
whipped  off  his  coat  or  made  a dart  at  the  mud  on  his 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SPEAK 


121 


trousers 5 “you  are  the  most  masterful  little  besom  I 
ever  clapped  eyes  on.” 

But  as  he  said  it  he  perhaps  crossed  his  legs,  and  she 
immediately  cried,  “You  have  missed  two  holes  in 
lacing  your  boots!” 

Of  a morning  he  would  ask  her  sarcastically  to 
examine  him  from  top  to  toe  and  see  if  he  would  do, 
and  examine  him  she  did,  turning  him  round,  pointing 
out  that  he  had  been  sitting  “ again  ” on  his  tails,  that 
oh,  oh,  he  must  have  cut  that  buttonhole  with  his 
knife.  He  became  most  artful  in  hiding  deficiencies 
from  her,  but  her  suspicions  once  roused  would  not 
sleep,  and  all  subterfuge  was  vain.  “Why  have  you 
buttoned  your  coat  up  tight  to  the  throat  to-day  ? ” she 
would  demand  sternly. 

“It  is  such  a cold  morning,”  he  said. 

“That  is  not  the  reason,”  she  replied  at  once  (she 
could  see  through  broadcloth  at  a glance),  “I  believe 
you  have  on  the  old  necktie  again,  and  you  promised  to 
buy  a new  one.” 

“I  always  forget  about  it  when  I’m  out,”  he  said 
humbly,  and  next  evening  he  found  on  his  table  a new 
tie,  made  by  Grizel  herself  out  of  her  mamma’s  rokelay. 

It  was  related  by  one  who  had  dropped  in  at  the 
doctor’s  house  unexpectedly,  that  he  found  Grizel  mak- 
ing a new  shirt,  and  forcing  the  doctor  to  try  on  the 
sleeves  while  they  were  still  in  the  pin  stage. 

She  soon  knew  his  every  want,  and  just  as  he  was 


422 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


beginning  to  want  it,  there  it  was  at  his  elbow.  He 
realized  what  a study  she  had  made  of  him  when  he 
heard  her  talking  of  his  favorite  dishes  and  his  favorite 
seat,  and  his  way  of  biting  his  underlip  when  in 
thought,  and  how  hard  he  was  on  his  left  cuff.  It  had 
been  one  of  his  boasts  that  he  had  no  favorite  dishes, 
etc.,  but  he  saw  now  that  he  had  been  a slave  to  them 
for  years  without  knowing  it. 

She  discussed  him  with  other  mothers  as  if  he  were 
her  little  boy,  and  he  denounced  her  for  it.  But  all 
the  time  she  was  spoiling  him.  Formerly  he  had  got 
on  very  well  when  nothing  was  in  its  place.  Now  he 
roared  helplessly  if  he  mislaid  his  razor. 

He  was  determined  to  make  a lady  of  her,  which 
necessitated  her  being  sent  to  school;  she  preferred 
hemming,  baking  and  rubbing  things  till  they  shone, 
and  not  both  could  have  had  their  way  (which  sounds 
fatal  for  the  man),  had  they  not  arranged  a compromise, 
Grizel,  for  instance,  to  study  geography  for  an  hour  in 
the  evening  with  Miss  Langlands  (go  to  school  in  the 
daytime  she  would  not)  so  long  as  the  doctor  shaved 
every  morning,  but  if  no  shave  no  geography;  the 
doctor  to  wipe  his  pen  on  the  blot-sheet  instead  of  on 
the  lining  of  his  coat  if  she  took  three  lessons  a week 
from  Miss  Oram  on  the  spinet.  How  happy  and 
proud  she  was!  Her  glee  was  a constant  source  of 
wonder  to  McQueen.  Perhaps  she  put  on  airs  a little, 
her  walk,  said  the  critical,  had  become  a strut;  but  how 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SPEAK 


423 


could  she  help  that  when  the  new  joyousness  of  living 
was  dancing  and  singing  within  her  ? 

Had  all  her  fears  for  the  future  rolled  away  like 
clouds  that  leave  no  mark  behind  ? The  doctor  thought 
so  at  times,  she  so  seldom  spoke  of  them  to  him ; he  did 
not  see  that  when  they  came  she  hid  them  from  him 
because  she  had  discovered  that  they  saddened  him. 
And  she  had  so  little  time  to  brood,  being  convinced  of 
the  sinfulness  of  sitting  still,  that  if  the  clouds  came 
suddenly,  they  never  stayed  long  save  once,  and  then  it 
was,  mayhap,  as  well.  The  thunderclap  was  caused  by 
Tommy,  who  brought  it  on  unintentionally  and  was 
almost  as  much  scared  by  his  handiwork  as  Grizel 
herself.  She  and  he  had  been  very  friendly  of  late, 
partly  because  they  shared  with  McQueen  the  secret 
of  the  frustrated  elopement,  partly  because  they  both 
thought  that  in  that  curious  incident  Tommy  had 
behaved  in  a most  disinterested  and  splendid  way. 
Grizel  had  not  been  sure  of  it  at  first,  but  it  had  grown 
on  Tommy,  he  had  so  thoroughly  convinced  himself  of 
his  intention  to  get  into  the  train  with  her  at  Tilliedrura 
that  her  doubts  were  dispelled  — easily  dispelled,  you 
say,  but  the  truth  must  be  told,  Grizel  was  very  anxious 
to  be  rid  of  them.  And  Tommy’s  were  honest  convic- 
tions, born  full  grown  of  a desire  for  happiness  to  all. 
Had  Elspeth  discovered  how  nearly  he  had  deserted 
her,  the  same  sentiment  would  have  made  him  swear  to 
her  with  tears  that  never  should  he  have  gone  farther 


424 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


than  Tilliedrum,  and  while  he  was  persuading  her  he 
would  have  persuaded  himself.  Then  again,  when  he 
met  Grizel  — well,  to  get  him  in  doubt  it  would  have 
been  necessary  to  catch  him  on  the  way  between  these 
two  girls. 

So  Tommy  and  Grizel  were  friends,  and  finding  that 
it  hurt  the  doctor  to  speak  on  a certain  subject  to  him, 
Grizel  gave  her  confidences  to  Tommy.  She  had  a 
fear,  which  he  shared  on  its  being  explained  to  him, 
that  she  might  meet  a man  of  the  stamp  of  her  father, 
and  grow  fond  of  him  before  she  knew  the  kind  he  was, 
and  as  even  Tommy  could  not  suggest  an  infallible  test 
which  would  lay  them  bare  at  the  first  glance,  he  con- 
sented to  consult  Blinder  once  more.  He  found  the 
blind  man  by  his  fire-side,  very  difficult  to  coax  into 
words  on  the  important  topic,  but  Tommy’s  “ You’ve 
said  ower  much  no  to  tell  a bit  more,”  seemed  to 
impress  him,  and  he  answered  the  question,  — 

“ You  said  a woman  should  fly  frae  the  like  o’  Grizel’s 
father  though  it  should  be  to  the  other  end  of  the  world, 
but  how  is  she  to  ken  that  he ’s  that  kind  ? ” 

“ She  ’ll  ken,”  Blinder  answered  after  thinking  it 
over,  “if  she  likes  him  and  fears  him  at  one  breath, 
and  has  a sort  of  secret  dread  that  he ’s  getting  a power 
ower  her  that  she  canna  resist.” 

These  words  were  a flash  of  light  on  a neglected 
corner  to  Tommy.  “Now  I see,  now  I ken,”  he  ex- 
claimed, amazed;  “now  I ken  wha*  my  mother  meant! 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SPEAK 


425 


Blinder,  is  that  no  the  kind  of  man  that  *s  called  mas- 
terful ? ” 

“ It  ’s  what  poor  women  find  them  and  call  them  to 
their  cost,”  said  Blinder. 

Tommy’s  excitement  was  prodigious.  “Now  I ken, 
now  I see ! ” he  cried,  slapping  his  leg  and  stamping  up 
and  down  the  room. 

“Sit  down!  ” roared  his  host. 

“I  canna,”  retorted  the  boy.  “Oh,  to  think  o’t,  to 
think  I came  to  speir  that  question  at  you,  to  think  her 
and  me  has  wondered  what  kind  he  was,  and  I kent  a* 
the  time!”  Without  staying  to  tell  Blinder  what  he 
was  blethering  about,  he  hurried  off  to  Grizel,  who  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  Den,  and  to  her  he  poured  out 
his  astonishing  news. 

“ I ken  all  about  them,  I *ve  kent  since  afore  I came 
to  Thrums,  but  though  I generally  say  the  prayer,  I Ve 
forgot  to  think  o’  what  it  means.”  In  a stampede  of 
words  he  told  her  all  he  could  remember  of  his  mother’s 
story  as  related  to  him  on  a grim  night  in  London  so 
long  ago,  and  she  listened  eagerly.  And  when  that 
was  over,  he  repeated  first  his  prayer  and  then 
Elspeth’s,  “0  God,  whatever  is  to  be  my  fate,  may  I 
never  be  one  of  them  that  bow  the  knee  to  masterful 
man,  and  if  I was  born  like  that  and  canna  help  it,  O 
take  me  up  to  heaven  afore  I ’m  fil’t.”  Grizel  repeated 
it  after  him  until  she  had  it  by  heart,  and  even  as 
she  said  it  a strange  thing  happened,  for  she  began 


426 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


to  draw  back  from  Tommy,  with  a look  of  terror  on 
her  face. 

“What  makes  you  look  at  me  like  that  ? ” he  cried. 

“I  believe  — I think  — you  are  masterful,”  she 
gasped. 

“Me!”  he  retorted  indignantly. 

“Now,”  she  went  on,  waving  him  back,  “now  I know 
why  I would  not  give  in  to  you  when  you  wanted  me  to 
be  Stroke’s  wife.  I was  afraid  you  were  masterful!  ” 

“ Was  that  it  ? ” cried  Tommy. 

“Now,”  she  proceeded,  too  excited  to  heed  his  inter- 
ruptions, “now  I know  why  I would  not  kiss  your 
hand,  now  I know  why  I would  not  say  I liked  you.  I 
was  afraid  of  you,  I ” 

“Were  you  ?”  His  eyes  began  to  sparkle,  and  some^ 
thing  very  like  rapture  was  pushing  the  indignation 
from  his  face.  “Oh,  Grizel,  have  I a power  ower 
you  ? ” 

“No,  you  have  not,”  she  cried  passionately.  “I  was 
just  frightened  that  you  might  have.  Oh,  oh,  I know 
you  now ! ” 

“To  think  o’t,  to  think  o’t!  ” he  crowed,  wagging  his 
head,  and  then  she  clenched  her  fist,  crying,  “Oh,  you 
wicked,  you  should  cry  with  shame!  ” 

But  he  had  his  answer  ready,  “It  canna  be  my  wite, 
for  I never  kent  o’t  till  you  telled  me.  Grizel,  it  has 
just  come  about  without  either  of  us  kenning!  ” 

She  shuddered  at  this,  and  then  seized  him  by  the 


WHO  TOLD  TOMMY  TO  SPEAK 


427 


shoulders.  “It  has  not  come  about  at  all,”  she  said,  “I 
was  only  frightened  that  it  might  come,  and  now  it 
can’t  come,  for  I won’t  let  it.” 

“But  can  you  help  yoursel’  ? ” 

“Yes,  I can.  I shall  never  be  friends  with  you 
again.” 

She  had  such  a capacity  for  keeping  her  word  that 
this  alarmed  him,  and  he  did  his  best  to  extinguish  his 
lights.  “I’m  no  masterful,  Grizel,”  he  said,  “and  I 
dinna  want  to  be,  it  was  just  for  a minute  that  I liked 
the  thought.”  She  shook  her  head,  but  his  next  words 
had  more  effect.  “If  I had  been  that  kind,  would  I 
have  teached  you  Elspeth’s  prayer  ? ” 

“N-no,  I don’t  think  so,”  she  said  slowly,  and  per- 
haps he  would  have  succeeded  in  soothing  her,  had  not 
a sudden  thought  brought  back  the  terror  to  her  face. 

“ What  is ’t  now  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Oh,  oh,  oh ! ” she  cried,  “ and  I nearly  went  away 
with  you ! ” and  without  another  word  she  fled  from  the 
Den.  She  never  told  the  doctor  of  this  incident,  and  in 
time  it  became  a mere  shadow  in  the  background,  so 
that  she  was  again  his  happy  housekeeper,  but  that  was 
because  she  had  found  strength  to  break  with  Tommy. 
She  was  only  an  eager  little  girl , pathetically  ignorant 
about  what  she  wanted  most  to  understand,  but  she  saw 
how  an  instinct  had  been  fighting  for  her,  and  now  it 
should  not  have  to  fight  alone.  How  careful  she 
became!  All  Tommy’s  wiles  were  vain,  she  would 


428 


SENTIMENTAIi  TOMMY 


scarcely  answer  if  he  spoke  to  her;  if  he  had  ever  pos- 
sessed a power  over  her  it  was  gone,  Elspeth’s  prayer 
had  saved  her. 

Jean  Myles  had  told  Tommy  to  teach  that  prayer 
to  Elspetli;  but  who  had  told  him  to  repeat  it  to 
Grizel  ? 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 

Grizel’s  secession  had  at  least  one  good  effect:  it 
gave  Tommy  more  time  in  which  to  make  a scholar  of 
himself.  Would  you  like  a picture  of  Tommy  trying 
to  make  a scholar  of  himself  ? 

They  all  helped  him  in  their  different  ways : Grizel, 
by  declining  his  company;  Corp,  by  being  far  away  at 
Look-about-you,  adding  to  the  inches  of  a farm-house; 
Aaron  Latta,  by  saying  nothing  but  looking  “ college 
or  the  herding;”  Mr.  McLean,  who  had  settled  down 
with  Ailie  at  the  Dovecot,  by  inquiries  about  his  pro- 
gress ; Elspeth  by  — but  did  Elspeth’s  talks  with  him 
about  how  they  should  live  in  Aberdeen  and  afterwards 
(when  they  were  in  the  big  house)  do  more  than  send 
his  mind  a-galloping  (she  holding  on  behind)  along 
roads  that  lead  not  to  Aberdeen  ? What  drove  Tommy 
oftenest  to  the  weary  drudgery  was,  perhaps,  the  alarm 
that  came  over  him  when  he  seemed  of  a sudden  to  hear 
the  names  of  the  bursars  proclaimed  and  no  Thomas 
Sandys  among  them.  Then  did  he  shudder,  for  well  he 
knew  that  Aaron  would  keep  his  threat,  and  he  hastily 


430 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


covered  the  round  table  with  books  and  sat  for  hours 
sorrowfully  pecking  at  them,  every  little  while  to  dis- 
cover that  his  mind  had  soared  to  other  things,  when 
he  hauled  it  back,  as  one  draws  in  a reluctant  kite.  On 
these  occasions  Aaron  seldom  troubled  him,  except  by 
glances  that,  nevertheless,  brought  the  kite  back  more 
quickly  than  if  they  had  been  words  of  warning.  If 
Elspeth  was  present,  the  warper  might  sit  moodily  by 
the  fire,  but  when  the  man  and  the  boy  were  left 
together,  one  or  other  of  them  soon  retired,  as  if  this 
was  the  only  way  of  preserving  the  peace.  Though 
determined  to  keep  his  word  to  Jean  Myles  liberally, 
Aaron  had  never  liked  Tommy,  and  Tommy’s  avoidance 
of  him  is  easily  accounted  for;  he  knew  that  Aaron  did 
not  admire  him,  and  unless  you  admired  Tommy  he 
was  always  a boor  in  your  presence,  shy  and  self- 
distrustful. Especially  was  this  so  if  you  were  a lady 
(how  amazingly  he  got  on  in  after  years  with  some  of 
you,  what  agony  others  endured  till  he  went  away!), 
and  it  is  the  chief  reason  why  there  are  such  contra- 
dictory accounts  of  him  to-day. 

Sometimes  Mr.  Cathro  had  hopes  of  him  other  than 
those  that  could  only  be  revealed  in  a shameful  whisper 
with  the  door  shut.  “Not  so  bad,”  he  might  say  to 
Mr.  McLean ; “ if  he  keeps  it  up  we  may  squeeze  him 
through  yet,  without  trusting  to  — to  what  I was  fool 
enough  to  mention  to  you.  The  mathematics  are  his 
weak  point,  there  ’s  nothing  practical  about  him  (except 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


431 


when  it ’s  needed  to  carry  out  his  devil’s  designs)  and 
he  cares  not  a doit  about  the  line  A B,  nor  what  it ’s 
doing  in  the  circle  K,  but  there  ’s  whiles  he  surprises 
rue  when  we  ’re  at  Homer.  He  has  the  spirit  o’t,  man, 
even  when  he  bogles  at  the  sense.” 

But  the  next  time  Ivie  called  for  a report  — ! 

In  his  great  days,  so  glittering,  so  brief  (the  days  of 
the  penny  Life)  Tommy,  looking  back  to  this  year,  was 
sure  that  he  had  never  really  tried  to  work.  But  he 
had.  He  did  his  very  best,  doggedly,  wearily  sitting 
at  the  round  table  till  Elspeth  feared  that  he  was  kill- 
ing himself  and  gave  him  a melancholy  comfort  by 
saying  so.  An  hour  afterwards  he  might  discover  that 
he  had  been  far  away  from  his  books,  looking  on  at 
his  affecting  death  and  counting  the  mourners  at  the 
funeral. 

Had  he  thought  that  Grizel’s  discovery  was  making 
her  unhappy  he  would  have  melted  at  once,  but  never 
did  she  look  so  proud  as  when  she  scornfully  passed 
him  by,  and  he  wagged  his  head  complacently  over  her 
coming  chagrin  when  she  heard  that  he  had  carried  the 
highest  bursary.  Then  she  would  know  what  she  had 
flung  away.  This  should  have  helped  him  to  another 
struggle  with  his  lexicon,  but  it  only  provided  a breeze 
for  the  kite,  which  flew  so  strong  that  he  had  to  let  go 
the  string. 

Aaron  and  the  Dominie  met  one  day  in  the  square, 
and  to  Aaron’s  surprise  Mr.  Cathro’s  despondency 


432 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


about  Tommy  was  more  pronounced  than  before. 
wonder  at  that,”  the  warper  said,  u for  I assure  you  he 
has  been  harder  at  it  than  ever  thae  last  nights. 
What ’s  more,  he  used  to  look  doleful  as  he  sat  at  his 
table,  but  I notice  now  that  he ’s  as  sweer  to  leave  off 
as  he  ’s  keen  to  begin,  and  the  face  of  him  is  a’  eager- 
ness too,  and  he  reads  ower  to  himself  what  he  has 
wrote  and  wags  his  head  at  it  as  if  he  thought  it 
grand.” 

“Say  you  so?”  asked  Cathro,  suspiciously;  “does 
he  leave  what  he  writes  lying  about,  Aaron  ? ” 

“No,  but  he  takes  it  to  you,  does  he  no’  ? ” 

“Not  him,”  said  the  Dominie,  emphatically,  “i 
may  be  mistaken,  Aaron,  but  I ’m  doubting  the  young 
whelp  is  at  his  tricks  again.” 

The  Dominie  was  right,  and  before  many  days  passed 
he  discovered  what  was  Tommy’s  new  and  delicious 
occupation. 

For  years  Mr.  Cathro  had  been  in  the  habit  of  writ- 
ing letters  for  such  of  the  populace  as  could  not  guide  a 
pen,  and  though  he  often  told  them  not  to  come  deaving 
him  he  liked  the  job,  unexpected  presents  of  a hen  or  a 
ham  occasionally  arriving  as  his  reward,  while  the  per- 
sonal matters  thus  confided  to  him,  as  if  he  were  a safe 
for  the  banking  of  private  histories,  gave  him  and  his 
wife  gossip  for  winter  nights.  Of  late  the  number  of 
his  clients  had  decreased  without  his  noticing  it,  so 
confident  was  he  that  they  could  not  get  on  without 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


433 


him,  but  he  received  a shock  at  last  from  Andrew 
Dickie,  who  came  one  Saturday  night  with  paper, 
envelope,  a Queers  head,  and  a request  for  a letter  for 
Bell  Birse,  now  of  Tilliedrum. 

“ You  want  me  to  speir  in  your  name  whether  she  ’ll 
have  you,  do  you  ? ” asked  Cathro,  with  a flourish  of 
his  pen. 

“It ’s  no  just  so  simple  as  that,”  said  Andrew,  and 
then  he  seemed  to  be  rather  at  a loss  to  say  what  it  was. 

“ I dinna  ken,”  he  continued  presently  with  a grave  face, 
“whether  you  ’ve  noticed  that  I ’m  a gey  queer  deevil?  * 
Losh,  I think  I ’m  the  queerest  deevil  I ken.” 

“We  are  all  that,”  the  Dominie  assured  him.  “But 
what  do  you  want  me  to  write  ? ” 

“Well,  it ’s  like  this,”  said  Andrew,  “I’m  willing  to 
marry  her  if  she ’s  agreeable,  but  I want  to  make  sure 
that  she  ’ll  take  me  afore  I speir  her.  I ’m  a proud 
man,  Dominie.” 

“ You  ’re  a sly  one ! ” 

“Am  I no!”  said  Andrew,  well  pleased.  “Well, 
could  you  put  the  letter  in  that  wy?” 

“I  wouldna,”  replied  Mr.  Cathro,  “though  I could, 
and  I couldna  though  I would.  It  would  defy  the  face 
of  clay  to  do  it,  you  canny  lover.” 

Now,  the  Dominie  had  frequently  declined  to  write 
as  he  was  bidden,  and  had  suggested  alterations  which 
were  invariably  accepted,  but  to  his  astonishment 
Andrew  would  not  give  in.  “I  ’ll  be  stepping,  then,” 

28 


434 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


he  said  coolly,  “ for  if  you  hinna  the  knack  o’t  I ken 
somebody  that  has.” 

“ Who  ? ” demanded  the  irate  Dominie. 

“I  promised  no  to  tell  you,”  replied  Andrew,  and 
away  he  went.  Mr.  Cathro  expected  him  to  return 
presently  in  humbler  mood,  but  was  disappointed,  and 
a week  or  two  afterwards  he  heard  Andrew  and  Mary 
Jane  Proctor  cried  in  the  parish  church.  “Did  Bell 
Birse  refuse  him  ? ” he  asked  the  kirk  officer,  and  was 
informed  that  Bell  had  never  got  a chance.  “ His  letter 
was  so  cunning,”  said  John,  “that  without  speiring 
her,  it  drew  ane  frae  her  in  which  she  let  out  that  she 
was  centred  on  Davit  Allardyee.” 

“ But  who  wrote  Andrew's  letter  ? ” asked  Mr.  Cathro, 
sharply. 

“I  thought  it  had  been  yourseP,”  said  John,  and  the 
Dominie  chafed,  and  lost  much  of  the  afternoon  service 
by  going  over  in  his  mind  the  names  of  possible  rivals. 
He  never  thought  of  Tommy. 

Then  a week  or  two  later  fell  a heavier  blow.  At 
least  twice  a year  the  Dominie  had  written  for  Meggy 
Duff  to  her  daughter  in  Ireland  a long  letter  founded 
on  this  suggestion,  “Dear  Kaytherine,  if  you  dinna 
send  ten  shillings  immediately,  your  puir  auld  mother 
will  have  neither  house  nor  hame.  I ’m  crying  to 
you  for’t,  Kaytherine;  hearken  and  you’ll  hear  my 
cry  across  the  cauldriff  sea.”  He  met  Meggy  in  the 
Banker’s  Close  one  day,  and  asked  her  pleasantly  if  the 
time  was  not  drawing  nigh  for  another  appeal. 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


435 


“I  have  wrote,”  replied  the  old  woman,  giving  her 
pocket  a boastful  smack,  which  she  thus  explained, 
“ And  it  was  the  whole  ten  shillings  this  time,  and  you 
never  got  more  for  me  than  five.” 

“ Who  wrote  the  letter  for  you  ? ” he  asked,  lowering. 

She,  too,  it  seemed,  had  promised  not  to  tell. 

“Did  you  promise  to  tell  nobody,  Meggy,  or  just  no 
to  tell  me,”  he  pressed  her,  of  a sudden  suspecting 
Tommy. 

“Just  no  to  tell  you,”  she  answered,  and  at  that, 

“Da-a-a,”  began  the  Dominie,  and  then  saved  his 
reputation  by  adding  “gont.”  The  derivation  of  the 
word  dagont  has  puzzled  many,  but  here  we  seem  to 
have  it. 

It  is  interesting  to  know  what  Tommy  wrote.  The 
general  opinion  was  that  his  letter  must  have  been  a 
triumph  of  eloquent  appeal,  and  indeed  he  had  first 
sketched  out  several  masterpieces,  all  of  some  length 
and  in  different  styles,  but  on  the  whole  not  unlike  the 
concoctions  of  Meggy’s  former  secretary;  that  is,  he 
had  dwelt  on  the  duties  of  daughters,  on  the  hardness 
of  the  times,  on  the  certainty  that  if  Katherine  helped 
this  time  assistance  would  never  be  needed  again. 
This  sort  of  thing  had  always  satisfied  the  Dominie, 
but  Tommy,  despite  his  several  attempts,  had  a vague 
consciousness  that  there  was  something  second-rate 
about  them,  and  he  tapped  on  his  brain  till  it 
responded.  The  letter  he  despatched  to  Ireland,  but 


436 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


had  the  wisdom  not  to  read  aloud  even  to  Meggy,  com 
tained  nothing  save  her  own  words,  “ Dear  Kay therine, 
if  you  dinna  send  ten  shillings  immediately,  your  puir 
auld  mother  will  have  neither  house  nor  hame.  I ’m 
crying  to  you  for  ’t,  Kaytherine ; hearken  and  you  ’ll 
hear  my  cry  across  the  cauldriff  sea.”  It  was  a call 
from  the  heart  which  transported  Katherine  to  Thrums 
in  a second  of  time,  she  seemed  to  see  her  mother 
again,  grown  frail  since  last  they  met  — and  so  all  was 
well  for  Meggy.  Tommy  did  not  put  all  this  to  him- 
self but  he  felt  it,  and  after  that  he  could  not  have 
written  the  letter  differently.  Happy  Tommy ! To  be 
an  artist  is  a great  thing,  but  to  be  an  artist  and  not 
know  it  is  the  most  glorious  plight  in  the  world. 

Other  fickle  clients  put  their  correspondence  into  the 
boy’s  hands,  and  Cathro  found  it  out  but  said  nothing. 
Dignity  kept  him  in  check;  he  did  not  even  let  the 
tawse  speak  for  him.  So  well  did  he  dissemble  that 
Tommy  could  not  decide  how  much  he  knew,  and 
dreaded  his  getting  hold  of  some  of  the  letters,  yet 
pined  to  watch  his  face  while  he  read  them.  This 
could  not  last  forever.  Mr.  Cathro  was  like  a haughty 
kettle  which  has  choked  its  spout  that  none  may  know 
it  has  come  a-boil,  and  we  all  know  what  in  that  event 
must  happen  sooner  or  later  to  the  lid. 

The  three  boys  who  had  college  in  the  tail  of  their 
eye  had  certain  privileges  not  for  the  herd.  It  was 
taken  for  granted  that  when  knowledge  came  their  way 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


4S7 


they  needed  no  overseer  to  make  them  stand  their 
ground,  and  accordingly  for  great  part  of  the  day  they 
had  a back  bench  to  themselves,  with  half  a dozen 
hedges  of  boys  and  girls  between  them  and  the  Dominie. 
From  his  chair  Mr.  Cathro  could  not  see  them,  but  a 
foot-board  was  nailed  to  it,  and  when  he  stood  on  this, 
as  he  had  an  aggravating  trick  of  doing,  softly  and 
swiftly,  they  were  suddenly  in  view.  A large  fire  had 
been  burning  all  day  and  the  atmosphere  was  soporific. 
Mr.  Cathro  was  so  sleepy  himself  that  the  sight  of  a 
nodding  head  enraged  him  like  a caricature,  and  he 
was  on  the  foot-board  frequently  for  the  reason  that 
makes  bearded  men  suck  peppermints  in  church. 
Against  his  better  judgment  he  took  several  peeps  at 
Tommy,  whom  he  had  lately  suspected  of  writing  -his 
letters  in  school  or  at  least  of  gloating  over  them  on 
that  back  bench.  To-day  he  was  sure  of  it.  However 
absorbing  Euclid  may  be,  even  the  forty-seventh  of  the 
first  book  does  not  make  you  chuckle  and  wag  your 
head;  you  can  bring  a substantive  in  Virgil  back  to  the 
verb  that  has  lost  it  without  looking  as  if  you  would 
like  to  exhibit  them  together  in  the  square.  But 
Tommy  was  thus  elated  until  he  gave  way  to  grief  of 
the  most  affecting  kind.  Now  he  looked  gloomily 
before  him  as  if  all  was  over,  now  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands,  next  his  eyes  were  closed  as  if  in  prayer. 
All  this  the  Dominie  stood  from  him,  but  when  at  last 
he  began  to  blubber  — 


438 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


At  the  black-board  was  an  arithmetic  class,  slates  in 
hand,  each  member  adding  up  aloud  in  turn  a row  of 
figures.  By  and  by  it  was  known  that  Cathro  had 
ceased  to  listen.  “Go  on,”  his  voice  rather  than  him- 
self said,  and  he  accepted  Mary  Dundas’s  trembling 
assertion  that  four  and  seven  make  ten.  Such  was  the 
faith  in  Cathro  that  even  boys  who  could  add  promptly 
turned  their  eleven  into  ten,  and  he  did  not  catch  them 
at  it.  So  obviously  was  his  mind  as  well  as  his  gaze  on 
something  beyond,  that  Sandy  Biach,  a wit  who  had 
been  waiting  his  chance  for  years,  snapped  at  it  now, 
and  roared  “Ten  and  eleven,  nineteen”  (“Go  on,”  said 
Cathro),  “and  four,  twenty,”  gasped  Sandy,  “and  eight, 
sixteen,”  he  added,  gaining  courage.  “Very  good,” 
murmured  the  Dominie,  whereupon  Sandy  clenched  his 
reputation  forever  by  saying,  in  one  glorious  mouthful, 
“and  six,  eleven,  and  two,  five,  and  one,  nocht.” 

There  was  no  laughing  at  it  then  (though  Sandy  held 
a levee  in  the  evening),  they  were  all  so  stricken  with 
amazement.  By  one  movement  they  swung  round  to 
see  what  had  fascinated  Cathro,  and  the  other  classes 
doing  likewise,  Tommy  became  suddenly  the  centre  of 
observation.  Big  tears  were  slinking  down  his  face, 
and  falling  on  some  sheets  of  paper,  which  emotion 
prevented  his  concealing.  Anon  the  unusual  stillness 
in  the  school  made  him  look  up,  but  he  was  dazed,  like 
one  uncertain  of  his  whereabouts,  and  he  blinked  rapidly 
to  clear  his  eyes,  as  a bird  shakes  water  from  its  wings. 


THE  BRAND  ENT G OF  TOMMY 


439 


Mr.  Cathro  first  uttered  what  was  afterward  described 
as  a kind  of  throttled  skirl,  and  then  he  roared  “ Come 
here ! ” whereupon  Tommy  stepped  forward  heavily, 
and  tried,  as  commanded,  to  come  to  his  senses,  but  it 
was  not  easy  to  make  so  long  a journey  in  a moment, 
and  several  times,  as  he  seemed  about  to  conquer  his 
♦ears,  a wave  of  feeling  set  them  flowing  again. 

“ Take  your  time, ” said  Mr.  Cathro,  grimly,  “I  can 
vait,”  and  this  had  such  a helpful  effect  that  Tommy 
♦vas  able  presently  to  speak  up  for  his  misdeeds.  They 
Consisted  of  some  letters  written  at  home  but  brought  to 
the  school  for  private  reading,  and  the  Dominie  got  a 
nasty  jar  when  he  saw  that  they  were  all  signed  “ Betsy 
Grieve.”  Miss  Betsy  Grieve,  servant  to  Mr.  Duthie, 
was  about  to  marry,  and  these  letters  were  acknowl- 
edgments of  wedding  presents.  Now,  Mr.  Cathro  had 
written  similar  letters  for  Betsy  only  a few  days 
before. 

u Did  she  ask  you  to  write  these  for  her?”  he 
demanded,  fuhring,  and  Tommy  replied  demurely  that 
she  had.  He  could  not  help  adding,  though  he  felt  the 
unwisdom  of  it,  “She  got  some  other  body  to  do  them 
first,  but  his  letters  didna  satisfy  her.” 

“Oh!”  said  Mr.  Cathro,  and  it  was  such  a vicious 
oh  that  Tommy  squeaked  tremblingly,  “ I dinna  know 
who  he  was.” 

Keeping  his  mouth  shut  by  gripping  his  under  lip 
with  his  teeth,  the  Dominie  read  the  letters,  and 


440 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


Tommy  gazed  eagerly  at  him,  all  fear  forgotten,  soul 
conquering  body.  The  others  stood  or  sat  waiting, 
perplexed  as  to  the  cause,  confident  of  the  issue.  The 
letters  were  much  finer  productions  than  Cathro’s,  he 
had  to  admit  it  to  himself  as  he  read.  Yet  the  rivals 
had  started  fair,  for  Betsy  was  a recent  immigrant  from 
Dunkeld  way,  and  the  letters  were  to  people  known 
neither  to  Tommy  nor  to  the  Dominie.  Also,  she  had 
given  the  same  details  for  the  guidance  of  each.  A 
lady  had  sent  a teapot,  which  affected  to  be  new,  but 
was  not;  Betsy  recognized  it  by  a scratch  on  the  lid, 
and  wanted  to  scratch  back,  but  politely.  So  Tommy 
wrote,  “ When  you  come  to  see  me  we  shall  have  a cup 
of  tea  out  of  your  beautiful  present,  and  it  will  be  like 
a meeting  of  three  old  friends.”  That  was  perhaps  too 
polite,  Betsy  feared,  but  Tommy  said  authoritatively, 
“No,  the  politer  the  nippier.” 

There  was  a set  of  six  cups  and  saucers  from  Peter 
something,  who  had  loved  Betsy  in  vain.  She  had 
shown  the  Dominie  and  Tommy  the  ear-rings  given  her 
long  ago  by  Peter  (they  were  bought  with  ’Sosh  checks) 
and  the  poem  he  had  written  about  them,  and  she  was 
most  anxious  to  gratify  him  in  her  reply.  All  Cathro 
could  do,  however,  was  to  wish  Peter  well  in  some 
ornate  sentences,  while  Tommy’s  was  a letter  that  only 
a tender  woman’s  heart  could  have  indited,  with  such 
beautiful  touches  about  the  days  which  are  no  more  alas 
forever,  that  Betsy  listened  to  it  with  heaving  breast 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


441 


and  felt  so  sorry  for  her  old  swain  that,  forgetting  she 
had  never  loved  him,  she  all  but  gave  Andrew  the  go-by 
and  returned  to  Peter.  As  for  Peter,  who  had  been 
getting  over  his  trouble,  he  saw  now  for  the  first  time 
what  he  had  lost,  and  he  carried  Betsy's  dear  letter  in 
his  oxter  pocket  and  was  inconsolable. 

But  the  masterpiece  went  to  Mrs.  Dinnie,  baker,  in 
return  for  a flagon  bun.  Long  ago  her  daughter, 
Janet,  and  Betsy  had  agreed  to  marry  on  the  same  day, 
and  many  a quip  had  Mrs.  Dinnie  cast  at  their  romantic 
compact.  But  Janet  died,  and  so  it  was  a sad  letter 
that  Tommy  had  to  write  to  her  mother.  “ I ’m  doubt- 
ing you  ’re  no  auld  enough  for  this  ane,”  soft-hearted 
Betsy  said,  but  she  did  not  know  her  man.  “ Tell  me 
some  one  thing  the  mother  used  often  to  say  when  she 
was  taking  her  fun  off  the  pair  of  you,”  he  said,  and 
“ Where  is  she  buried?”  was  a suggestive  question, 
with  the  happy  tag,  “Is  there  a tree  hanging  over  the 
grave  ? ” Thus  assisted,  he  composed  a letter  that  had 
a tear  in  every  sentence.  Betsy  rubbed  her  eyes  red 
over  it,  and  not  all  its  sentiments  were  allowed  to  die, 
for  Mrs.  Dinnie,  touched  to  the  heart,  printed  the  best 
of  them  in  black  licorice  on  short  bread  for  funeral 
feasts,  at  which  they  gave  rise  to  solemn  reflections  as 
they  went  down. 

Nevertheless,  this  letter  affected  none  so  much  as  the 
writer  of  it.  His  first  rough  sketch  became  so  damp 
as  he  wrote  that  he  had  to  abandon  his  pen  and  take  to 


442 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


pencil;  while  he  was  revising  he  had  often  to  desist  t6 
dry  his  eyes  on  the  coverlet  of  Aaron’s  bed,  which 
made  Elspeth  weep  also,  though  she  had  no  notion 
what  he  was  at.  But  when  the  work  was  finished  he 
took  her  into  the  secret  and  read  his  letter  to  her,  and 
he  almost  choked  as  he  did  so.  Yet  he  smiled  raptu- 
rously through  his  woe,  and  she  knew  no  better  than  to 
be  proud  of  him,  and  he  woke  next  morning  with  a cold, 
brought  on  you  can  see  how,  but  his  triumph  was  worth 
its  price. 

Having  read  the  letter  in  an  uncanny  silence,  Mr. 
Cathro  unbottled  Tommy  for  the  details,  and  out  they 
came  with  a rush,  blowing  away  the  cork  discretion. 
Yet  was  the  Dominie  slow  to  strike;  he  seemed  to  find 
more  satisfaction  in  surveying  his  young  friend  with  a 
wondering  gaze  that  had  a dash  of  admiration  in  it, 
which  Tommy  was  the  first  to  note. 

“I  don’t  mind  admitting  before  the  whole  school,” 
said  Mr.  Cathro,  slowly,  “ that  if  these  letters  had  been 
addressed  to  me  they  would  have  taken  me  in.” 

Tommy  tried  to  look  modest,  but  his  chest  would 
have  its  way. 

“You  little  sacket,”  cried  the  Dominie,  “how  did  you 
manage  it  ? ” 

“I  think  1 thought  I was  Betsy  at  the  time,”  Tommy 
answered,  with  proper  awe. 

“She  told  me  nothing  about  the  weeping-willow  at 
the  grave,”  said  the  Dominie,  perhaps  in  self-defence. 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


443 


“You  hadna  speired  if  there  was  one,”  retorted 
Tommy,  jealously. 

“ What  made  you  think  of  it  ? ” 

“I  saw  it  might  come  in  neat.”  (He  had  said  in  the 
letter  that  the  weeping-willow  reminded  him  of  the 
days  when  Janet’s  bonny  hair  hung  down  kissing  her 
waist  just  as  the  willow  kissed  the  grave.) 

“Willows  don’t  hang  so  low  as  you  seem  to  think,” 
said  the  Dominie. 

“Yes,  they  do,”  replied  Tommy,  “I  walked  three 
miles  to  see  one  to  make  sure.  I was  near  putting  in 
another  beautiful  bit  about  weeping-willows.” 

“ Well,  why  did  n’t  you?  ” 

Tommy  looked  up  with  an  impudent  snigger.  “ You 
could  never  guess,”  he  said. 

“Answer  me  at  once,”  thundered  his  preceptor. 
“Was  it  because ” 

“No,”  interrupted  Tommy,  so  conscious  of  Mr. 
Cathro’s  inferiority  that  to  let  him  go  on  seemed  waste 
of  time.  “It  was  because,  though  it  is  a beautiful 
thing  in  ioself,  I felt  a servant  lassie  wouldna  have 
thought  o’t.  I was  sweer,”  he  admitted,  with  a sigh; 
then  firmly,  “but  I cut  it  out.” 

Again  Cathro  admired,  reluctantly.  The  hack  does 
feel  the  difference  between  himself  and  the  artist. 
Cathro  might  possibly  have  had  the  idea,  he  could  not 
have  cut  it  out. 

But  the  hack  is  sometimes,  or  usually,  or  nearly 


444 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


always  the  artist’s  master,  and  can  make  him  suffer 
for  his  dem’d  superiority. 

“ What  made  you  snivel  when  you  read  the  pathetic 
bits  ? ” asked  Cathro,  with  itching  fingers. 

“I  was  so  sorry  for  Peter  and  Mrs.  Dinnie,”  Tommy 
answered,  a little  puzzled  himself  now.  “ I saw  them 
so  clear.” 

“And  yet  until  Betsy  came  to  you,  you  had  never 
heard  tell  of  them  ? ” 

“No.” 

“ And  on  reflection  you  don’t  care  a doit  about  them?  ” 

“N-no.” 

“ And  you  care  as  little  for  Betsy  ? ” 

“No  now,  but  at  the  time  I a kind  of  thought  I was 
to  be  married  to  Andrew.” 

“And  even  while  you  blubbered  you  were  saying  to 
yourself,  ‘What  a clever  billie  I am!  ’ ” 

Mr.  Cathro  had  certainly  intended  to  end  the  scene 
with  the  strap,  but  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand  for  it 
he  had  another  idea.  “Do  you  know  why  Nether 
Drumgley’s  sheep  are  branded  with  the  letters  N.  D.  ? ” 
he  asked  his  pupils,  and  a dozen  replied,  “ So  as  all  may 
ken  wha  they  belong  to.” 

“Precisely,”  said  Mr.  Cathro,  “and  similarly  they 
used  to  brand  a letter  on  a felon,  so  that  all  might 
know  whom  he  belonged  to.”  He  crossed  to  the  fire- 
place, and,  picking  up  a charred  stick,  wrote  with  it  on 
the  forehead  of  startled  Tommy  the  letters  “ S.  T.” 


THE  BRANDING  OF  TOMMY 


445 


“Now,”  said  the  Dominie  complacently,  “we  know 
to  whom  Tommy  belongs.” 

All  were  so  taken  aback  that  for  some  seconds  noth- 
ing could  be  heard  save  Tommy  indignantly  wiping  his 
brow;  then  “Wha  is  he?”  cried  one,  the  mouthpiece 
of  half  a hundred. 

“ He  is  one  of  the  two  proprietors  we  have  just  been 
speaking  of,”  replied  Cathro,  dryly,  and  turning  again 
to  Tommy,  he  said,  “Wipe  away,  Sentimental  Tommy, 
try  hot  water,  try  cold  water,  try  a knife,  but  you  will 
never  get  those  letters  off  you;  you  are  branded  for 
ever  and  ever.” 


CHAPTER  XXXVT 


OP  FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  AFTERWARDS  BOASTED  THAT 
THEY  HAD  KNOWN  TOMMY  SANDYS 

Bursary  examination  time  had  come,  and  to  the 
siege  of  Aberdeen  marched  a hungry  half-dozen  — three 
of  them  from  Thrums,  two  from  the  Glenquharity 
school.  The  sixth  was  Tod  Lindertis,  a ploughman 
from  the  Dubb  of  Prosen,  his  place  of  study  the  bothy 
after  lousing  time  (Do  you  hear  the  klink  of  quoits?) 
or  a one-roomed  house  near  it,  his  tutor  a dogged  little 
woman,  who  knew  not  the  accusative  from  the  dative, 
but  never  tired  of  holding  the  book  while  Tod  recited. 
Him  someone  greets  with  the  good-natured  jeer,  “It  ’s 
your  fourth  try,  is  it  no,  Tod  ?”  and  he  answers  cheer- 
ily, “It  is,  my  lathie,  and  I ’ll  keep  kick,  kick,  kicking 
away  to  the  nth  time.” 

“Which  means  till  the  door  flies  open,”  says  the 
dogged  little  woman,  who  is  the  gallant  Tod’s  no  less 
gallant  wife,  and  already  the  mother  of  two.  I hope 
Tod  will  succeed  this  time. 

The  competitors,  who  were  to  travel  part  of  the  way 
on  their  shanks,  met  soon  after  daybreak  in  Cathro’s 
yard,  where  a little  crowd  awaited  them,  parents  trying 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  447 

to  look  humble,  Mr.  Duthie  and  Ramsay  Cameron 
thinking  of  the  morning  when  they  set  off  on  the  same 
errand  — but  the  results  were  different,  and  Mr.  Duthie 
is  now  a minister,  and  Ramsay  is  in  the  middle  of 
another  wob.  Both  dominies  were  present,  hating 
each  other,  for  that  day  only,  up  to  the  mouth,  where 
their  icy  politeness  was  a thing  to  shudder  at,  and  each 
was  drilling  his  detachment  to  the  last  moment,  but  by 
different  methods;  for  while  Mr.  Cathro  entreated  Joe 
Meldrum  for  God’s  sake  to  mind  that  about  the  geni- 
tive, and  Willie  Simpson  to  keep  his  mouth  shut  and 
drink  even  water  sparingly,  Mr.  Ogilvy  cracked  jokes 
with  Gav  Dishart  and  explained  them  to  Lauchlf 
McLauchlan.  “Think  of  anything  now  but  what 
before  you,”  was  Mr.  Ogilvy ’s  advice.  “Think  of 
nothing  else,”  roared  Mr.  Cathro.  But  though  Mr. 
Ogilvy  seemed  outwardly  calm  it  was  base  pretence; 
his  dickie  gradually  wriggled  through  the  opening  of 
his  waistcoat,  as  if  bearing  a protest  from  his  inward 
parts,  and  he  let  it  hang  crumpled  and  conspicuous, 
while  Grizel,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  yearned  to 
put  it  right. 

Grizel  was  not  there,  she  told  several  people,  includ- 
ing herself,  to  say  good-by  to  Tommy,  and  oh,  how  she 
scorned  Elspeth,  for  looking  as  if  life  would  not  be 
endurable  without  him.  Knowing  what  Elspeth  was, 
Tommy  had  decided  that  she  should  not  accompany  him 
to  the  yard  (of  course  she  was  to  follow  him  to  Aberdeen 


448 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


if  he  distinguished  himself  — Mr.  McLean  had  promised 
to  bring  her),  but  she  told  him  of  her  dream  that  he 
headed  the  bursary  list,  and  as  this  dream  coincided 
with  some  dreams  of  his  own,  though  not  with  all,  it 
seemed  to  give  her  such  fortitude  that  he  let  her  come. 
An  expressionless  face  was  Tommy’s,  so  that  not  even 
the  experienced  dominie  of  Glenquharity,  covertly  scan- 
ning his  rival’s  lot,  could  tell  whether  he  was  gloomy 
or  uplifted;  he  did  not  seem  to  be  in  need  of  a long 
sleep  like  Willie  Simpson,  nor  were  his  eyes  glazed 
like  Gav  Dishart’s,  who  carried  all  the  problems  of 
Euclid  before  him  on  an  invisible  blackboard  and  dared 
not  even  wink  lest  he  displaced  them,  nor  did  he,  like 
Tod  Lindertis,  answer  questions  about  his  money  pocket 
or  where  he  had  stowed  his  bread  and  cheese  with 

“ After  envy,  spare,  obey, 

The  dative  put,  remember,  pray.” 

Mr.  Ogilvy  noticed  that  Cathro  tapped  his  forehead 
doubtfully  every  time  his  eyes  fell  on  Tommy,  but 
otherwise  shunned  him,  and  he  asked  “What  are  his 
chances  ? ” g f 

' “That’s  the  laddie,”  replied  Mr.  Cathro,  “who,  when 
you  took  her  ladyship  to  see  Corp  Shiach  years  ago 
impersona ” 

“I  know,”  Mr.  Ogilvy  interrupted  him  hastily,  “but 
how  will  he  stand,  think  you  ? ” 

Mr.  Cathro  coughed.  “We’ll  see,”  he  said  guard* 
edly. 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  S ANDYS  449 


Nevertheless  Tommy  was  not  to  get  round  the  corner 
without  betraying  a little  of  himself,  for  Elspeth  hav- 
ing borne  up  magnificently  when  he  shook  hands, 
screamed  at  the  tragedy  of  his  back  and  fell  into  the 
arms  of  Tod’s  wife,  whereupon  Tommy  first  tried  to 
brazen  it  out  and  then  kissed  her  in  the  presence  of  a 
score  of  witnesses,  including  Grizel,  who  stamped  her 
foot,  though  what  right  had  she  to  be  so  angry  ? “ I ’m 
sure,”  Elspeth  sobbed,  “that  the  professor  would  let 
me  sit  beside  you;  I would  just  hunker  on  the  floor  and 
hold  your  foot  and  no  say  a word.”  Tommy  gave  Tod’s 
wife  an  imploring  look,  and  she  managed  to  comfort 
Elspeth  with  predictions  of  his  coming  triumph  and  the 
leunion  to  follow.  Grateful  Elspeth  in  return  asked 
Tommy  to  help  Tod  when  the  professors  were  not  look- 
ing, and  he  promised,  after  which  she  had  no  more 
fear  for  Tod. 

And  now,  ye  drums  that  we  all  carry  in  our  breasts, 
beat  your  best  over  the  bravest  sight  ever  seen  in  a 
small  Scotch  town  of  an  autumn  morning,  the  departure 
of  its  fighting  lads  for  the  lists  at  Aberdeen.  Let  the 
tune  be  the  sweet  familiar  one  you  found  somewhere  in 
the  Bible  long  ago,  “ The  mothers  we  leave  behind  us  ” 
— leave  behind  us  on  their  knees.  May  it  dirl  through 
your  bones,  brave  boys,  to  the  end,  as  you  hope  not  to 
be  damned.  And  now,  quick  march. 

A week  has  elapsed,  and  now  — there  is  no  call  for 
music  now,  for  these  are  but  the  vanquished  crawling 

29 


450 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


back,  Joe  Meldrum  and  — and  another.  No,  it  is  not 
Tod,  he  stays  on  in  Aberdeen,  for  he  is  a twelve-pound 
tenner.  The  two  were  within  a mile  of  Thrums  at 
three  o’  clock,  but  after  that  they  lagged,  waiting  for 
the  gloaming,  when  they  stole  to  their  homes,  ducking 
as  they  passed  windows  without  the  blinds  down. 
Elspeth  ran  to  Tommy  when  he  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, and  then  she  got  quickly  between  him  and  Aaron. 
The  warper  was  sitting  by  the  fire  at  his  evening  meal, 
and  he  gave  the  wanderer  a long  steady  look,  then 
without  a word  returned  to  his  porridge  and  porter. 
It  was  a less  hearty  welcome  home  even  than  Joe’s; 
his  mother  was  among  those  who  had  wept  to  lose  her 
son,  but  when  he  came  back  to  her  she  gave  him  a 
whack  on  the  head  with  the  thieval. 

Aaron  asked  not  a question  about  those  days  in 
Aberdeen,  but  he  heard  a little  about  them  from 
Elspeth.  Tommy  had  not  excused  himself  to  Elspeth, 
he  had  let  her  do  as  she  liked  with  his  head  (this  was  a 
great  treat  to  her),  and  while  it  lay  pressed  against 
hers,  she  made  remarks  about  Aberdeen  professors 
which  it  would  have  done  them  good  to  hear.  These 
she  repeated  to  Aaron,  who  was  about  to  answer 
roughly,  and  then  suddenly  put  her  on  his  knee 
instead. 

“They  didna  ask  the  right  questions,”  she  told  him, 
and  when  the  warper  asked  if  Tommy  had  said  so,  she 
declared  that  he  had  refused  to  say  a word  against 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  451 

them,  which  seemed  to  her  to  cover  him  with  glory. 
“But  he  doubted  they  would  make  that  mistake  afore 
he  started,  she  said  brightly,  so  you  see  he  saw 
through  them  afore  ever  he  set  eyes  on  them.” 

Corp  would  have  replied  admiringly  to  this  “Oh,  the 
little  deevil ! ” (when  he  heard  of  Tommy’s  failure  he 
wanted  to  fight  Gav  Dishart  and  Willie  Simpson),  but 
Aaron  was  another  kind  of  confidant,  and  even  when 
she  explained  on  Tommy’s  authority  that  there  are  two 
kinds  of  cleverness,  the  kind  you  learn  from  books  and 
a kind  that  is  inside  yourself,  which  latter  was  Tommy’s 
kind,  he  only  replied, 

“He  can  take  it  wi’  him  to  the  herding,  then,  and 
see  if  it  ’ll  keep  the  cattle  frae  stravaiging.” 

“It ’s  no  that  kind  of  cleverness  either,”  said  Elspeth, 
quaking,  and  quaked  also  Tommy,  who  had  gone  to  the 
garret,  to  listen  through  the  floor. 

“No?  I would  like  to  ken  what  use  his  cleverness 
can  be  put  to,  then,”  said  Aaron,  and  Elspeth  answered 
nothing,  and  Tommy  only  sighed,  for  that  indeed  was 
the  problem.  But  though  to  these  three  and  to  Cathro, 
and  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McLean  and  to  others  more  mildly 
interested,  it  seemed  a problem  beyond  solution,  there 
was  one  in  Thrums  who  rocked  her  arms  at  their 
denseness,  a girl  growing  so  long  in  the  legs  that  twice 
within  the  last  year  she  had  found  it  necessary  to  let 
down  her  parramatty  frock.  As  soon  as  she  heard  that 
Tommy  had  come  home  vanquished,  she  put  on  the 


452 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


quaint  blue  bonnet  with  the  white  strings,  in  which  she 
fondly  believed  she  looked  ever  so  old  (her  period  of 
mourning  was  at  an  end,  but  she  still  wore  her  black 
dress)  and  forgetting  all  except  that  he  was  un- 
happy,  she  ran  to  a certain  little  house  to  comfort 
him.  But  she  did  not  go  in,  for  through  the  window 
she  saw  Elspeth  petting  him,  and  that  somehow  an- 
noyed her.  In  the  evening,  however,  she  called  on 
Mr.  Cathro. 

Perhaps  you  want  to  know  why  she,  who  at  last  saw 
Sentimental  Tommy  in  his  true  light  and  spurned  him 
accordingly,  now  exerted  herself  in  his  behalf  instead 
of  going  on  with  the  papering  of  the  surgery.  Well, 
that  was  the  reason.  She  had  put  the  question  to  her- 
self before  — not,  indeed,  before  going  to  Monypenny 
but  before  calling  on  the  Dominie  — and  decided  that 
she  wanted  to  send  Tommy  to  college,  because  she  dis- 
liked him  so  much  that  she  could  not  endure  the 
prospect  of  his  remaining  in  Thrums.  Now,  are  you 
satisfied  ? 

She  could  scarcely  take  time  to'  say  good-evening  to 
Mr.  Cathro  before  telling  him  the  object  of  her  visit. 
“The  letters  Tommy  has  been  writing  for  people  are 
very  clever,  are  they  not  ? ” she  began. 

“ You ’ve  heard  of  them , have  you  ? ” 

“Everybody  has  heard  of  them,”  she  said  injudi- 
ciously, and  he  groaned  and  asked  if  she  had  come  to 
tell  him  this.  But  he  admitted  their  cleverness,  where- 


FOTJB  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  453 

upon  she  asked,  “Well,  if  he  is  clever  at  writing  letters, 
would  he  not  be  clever  at  writing  an  essay  ? ” 

“ I wager  my  head  against  a snuff  mull  that  he  would 
be,  but  what  are  you  driving  at  ? ” 

“I  was  wondering  whether  he  could  not  win  the  prize 
I heard  Dr.  McQueen  speaking  about,  the  — is  it  not 
called  the  Hugh  Blackadder  ? ” 

“My  head  against  a buckie  that  he  could!  Sit  down, 
Grizel,  I see  what  you  mean  now.  Ay,  but  the  pity  is 
he  ’s  not  eligible  for  the  Hugh  Blackadder.  Oh,  that 
he  was,  oh,  that  he  was!  It  would  make  Ogilvy  of 
Glenquharity  sing  small  at  last!  His  loons  have  car- 
ried the  Blackadder  for  the  last  seven  years  without 
a break.  The  Hugh  Blackadder  Mortification,  the  be- 
quest is  called,  and,  ’deed,  it  has  been  a sore  mortifica- 
tion to  me  ! ” 

Calming  down,  he  told  her  the  story  of  the  bequest. 
Hugh  Blackadder  was  a Thrums  man  who  made  a 
fortune  in  America,  and  bequeathed  the  interest  of 
three  hundred  pounds  of  it  to  be  competed  for  yearly 
by  the  youth  of  his  native  place.  He  had  grown  fond 
of  Thrums  and  all  its  ways  over  there,  and  left  direc- 
tions that  the  prize  should  be  given  for  the  best  essay 
in  the  Scots  tongue,  the  ministers  of  the  town  and 
glens  to  be  the  judges,  the  competitors  to  be  boys 
who  were  going  to  college,  but  had  not  without  it  the 
wherewithal  to  support  themselves.  The  ministers 
took  this  to  mean  that  those  who  carried  small  bursaries 


454 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


were  eligible,  and  indeed  it  had  usually  gone  to  a 
bursar. 

“ Sentimental  Tommy  would  not  have  been  able  to 
compete  if  he  had  got  a bursary,”  Mr.  Cathro  explained, 
“ because  however  small  it  was  Mr.  McLean  meant  to 
double  it;  and  he  can’t  compete  without  it,  for  McLean 
refuses  to  help  him  now  (he  was  here  an  hour  since, 
saying  the  laddie  was  obviously  hopeless),  so  I never 
thought  of  entering  Tommy  for  the  Blackadder.  No, 
it  will  go  to  Ogilvy’s  Lauchlan  McLauchlan,  who  is  a 
twelve-pounder,  and,  as  there  can  be  no  competitors, 
he  ’ll  get  it  without  the  trouble  of  coming  back  to  write 
the  essay.” 

“But  suppose  Mr.  McLean  were  willing  to  do  what 
he  promised  if  Tommy  won  the  Blackadder  ? ” 

“It’s  useless  to  appeal  to  McLean.  He’s  hard  set 
against  the  laddie  now  and  washes  his  hands  of  him, 
saying  that  Aaron  Latta  is  right  after  all.  He  may 
soften,  and  get  Tommy  into  a trade  to  save  him  from 
the  herding,  but  send  him  to  college  he  won’t,  and 
indeed  he ’s  right,  the  laddie ’s  a fool.” 

“ Not  at  writing  let ” 

“ And  what  is  the  effect  of  his  letter-writing,  but  to 
make  me  ridiculous  ? Me ! I wonder  you  can  expect 
me  to  move  a finger  for  him,  he  has  been  my  tor- 
ment ever  since  his  inscrutable  face  appeared  at  my 
door.” 

“Never  mind  him,”  said  Grizel,  cunningly.  “But 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  455 

think  what  a triumph  it  would  be  to  you  if  your  boy 
beat  Mr.  Ogilvy’s.” 

The  Dominie  rose  in  his  excitement  and  slammed  the 
table,  “ My  certie,  lassie,  but  it  would ! ” he  cried. 
“Ogilvy  looks  on  the  Blackadder  as  his  perquisite,  and 
he  ’s  surer  of  it  than  ever  this  year.  And  there  ’s  no 
doubt  but  Tommy  would  carry  it.  My  head  to  a buckie 
preen  he  would  carry  it,  and  then,  oh,  for  a sight  of 

Ogilvy’s  face,  oh,  for ” He  broke  off  abruptly. 

“But  what’s  the  good  of  thinking  of  it?”  he  said, 
dolefully,  “Mr.  McLean’s  a firm  man  when  he  makes 
up  his  mind.” 

Nevertheless,  though  McLean,  who  had  a Scotch- 
man’s faith  in  the  verdict  of  professors,  and  had  been 
bitterly  disappointed  by  Tommy’s  failure,  refused  to  be 
converted  by  the  Dominie’s  entreaties,  he  yielded  to 
them  when  they  were  voiced  by  Ailie  (brought  into  the 
plot  vice  Grizel  retired),  and  Elspeth  got  round  Aaron, 
and  so  it  came  about  that  with  his  usual  luck,  Tommy 
was  given  another  chance,  present  at  the  competition, 
which  took  place  in  the  Thrums  school,  the  Eev.  Mr. 
Duthie,  the  Eev.  Mr.  Dishart,  the  Eev.  Mr.  Gloag  of 
Koran  Side,  the  Eev.  Mr.  Lorrimer  of  Glenquharity 
(these  on  hair-bottomed  chairs),  and  Mr.  Cathro  and 
Mr.  Ogilvy  (cane) ; present  also  to  a less  extent  (tha* 
is  to  say,  their  faces  at  the  windows),  Corp  and  others 
who  applauded  the  local  champion  when  he  entered  and 
derided  McLauchlan.  The  subject  of  the  essay  was 


456 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


changed  yearly,  this  time  “A  Day  in  Church”  was 
announced,  and  immediately  Lauchlan  McLauchlan, 
who  had  not  missed  a service  since  his  scarlet  fever 
year  (and  too  few  then),  smote  his  red  head  in  agony, 
while  Tommy,  who  had  missed  as  many  as  possible, 
looked  calmly  confident.  For  two  hours  the  competi- 
tors were  put  into  a small  room  communicating  with 
the  larger  one,  and  Tommy  began  at  once  with  a confi- 
dent smirk  that  presently  gave  way  to  a most  holy 
expression;  while  Lauchlan  gaped  at  him  and  at  last 
got  started  also,  but  had  to  pause  occasionally  to  rub 
his  face  on  his  sleeve,  for  like  Corp  he  was  one  of  the 
kind  who  cannot  think  without  perspiring.  In  the 
large  room  the  ministers  gossiped  about  eternal  punish' 
ment,  and  of  the  two  dominies  one  sat  at  his  ease,  like 
a passenger  who  knows  that  the  coach  will  reach  the 
goal  without  any  exertion  on  his  part,  while  the  other 
paced  the  floor,  with  many  a despondent  glance  through 
the  open  door  whence  the  scraping  proceeded;  and  the 
one  was  pleasantly  cool;  and  the  other  in  a plot  of 
heat;  and  the  one  made  genial  remarks  about  every-day 
matters,  and  the  answers  of  the  other  stood  on  their 
heads.  It  was  a familiar  comedy  to  Mr.  Ogilvy,  hardly 
a variation  on  what  had  happened  five  times  in  six  for 
many  years : the  same  scene,  the  same  scraping  in  the 
little  room,  the  same  background  of  ministers  (black- 
aviced  Mr.  Lorrimer  had  begun  to  bark  again),  the 
same  dominies;  everything  was  as  it  had  so  often  been, 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  457 


except  that  he  and  Cathro  had  changed  places;  it  was 
Cathro  who  sat  smiling  now  and  Mr.  Ogilvy  who  dole- 
fully paced  the  floor. 

To  be  able  to  write ! Throughout  Mr.  Ogilvy ’s  life, 
save  when  he  was  about  one  and  twenty,  this  had 
seemed  the  great  thing,  and  he  ever  approached  the 
thought  reverently,  as  if  it  were  a maid  of  more  than 
mortal  purity.  And  it  is,  and  because  he  knew  this 
she  let  him  see  her  face,  which  shall  ever  be  hidden 
from  those  who  look  not  for  the  soul,  and  to  help  him 
nearer  to  her  came  assistance  in  strange  guise,  the  loss 
of  loved  ones,  dolour  unutterable;  but  still  she  was 
beyond  his  reach.  Night  by  night,  when  the  only  light 
in  the  glen  was  the  school-house  lamp,  of  use  at  least 
as  a landmark  to  solitary  travellers  — who  miss  it  now- 
adays, for  it  burns  no  more  — she  hovered  over  him,  nor 
did  she  deride  his  hopeless  efforts,  but  rather,  as  she 
saw  him  go  from  black  to  gray  and  from  gray  to  white 
in  her  service,  were  her  luminous  eyes  sorrowful 
because  she  was  not  for  him,  and  she  bent  impulsively 
toward  him,  so  that  once  or  twice  in  a long  life  he 
touched  her  fingers,  and  a heavenly  spark  was  lit,  for 
he  had  risen  higher  than  himself,  and  that  is  literature. 

He  knew  that  oblivion  was  at  hand,  ready  to  sweep 
away  his  pages  almost  as  soon  as  they  were  filled  (Do 
we  not  all  hear  her  besom  when  we  pause  to  dip  ?),  but 
he  had  done  his  best  and  he  had  a sense  of  humor,  and 
perhaps  some  day  would  come  a pupil  of  whom  he  could 


458 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


make  what  he  had  failed  to  make  of  himself.  That 
prodigy  never  did  come,  though  it  was  not  for  want  of 
nursing,  and  there  came  at  least,  in  succession  most 
maddening  to  Mr.  Cathro,  a row  of  youths  who  could 
be  trained  to  carry  the  Hugh  Blackadder.  Mr.  Ogilvy’s 
many  triumphs  in  this  competition  had  not  dulled  his 
appetite  for  more,  and  depressed  he  was  at  the  prospect 
of  a reverse.  That  it  was  coming  now  he  could  not 
doubt.  McLauchlan,  who  was  to  be  Rev.,  had  a flow 
of  words  (which  would  prevent  his  perspiring  much  in 
the  pulpit),  but  he  could  no  more  describe  a familiar 
scene  with  the  pen  than  a milkmaid  can  draw  a cow. 
The  Thrums  representatives  were  sometimes  as  little 
gifted,  it  is  true,  and  never  were  they  so  well  exercised, 
but  this  Tommy  had  the  knack  of  it,  as  Mr.  Ogilvy 
could  not  doubt,  for  the  story  of  his  letter-writing  had 
been  through  the  glens. 

“Keep  up  your  spirits,”  Mr.  Lorrimer  had  said  to 
him  as  they  walked  together  to  the  fray,  “Cathro’s  loon 
may  compose  the  better  of  the  two,  but,  as  I under- 
stand, the  first  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  London, 
and  so  he  may  bogle  at  the  Scotch.” 

But  the  Dominie  replied,  “ Don’t  buoy  me  up  on  a soap 
bubble.  If  there ’s  as  much  in  him  as  I fear,  that 
should  be  a help  to  him  instead  of  a hindrance,  for  it 
will  have  set  him  a-thinking  about  the  words  he  uses.” 

And  the  satisfaction  on  Tommy’s  face  when  the  sub- 
ject of  the  essay  was  given  out,  with  the  business-like 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  459 


way  in  which  he  set  to  work,  had  added  to  the 
Dominie's  misgivings;  if  anything  was  required  to  dis- 
hearten him  utterly  it  was  provided  by  Cathro’s  confi- 
dent smile.  The  two  Thrums  ministers  were  naturally 
desirous  that  Tommy  should  win,  but  the  younger  of 
them  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Ogilvy,  and  noticing  his 
unhappy  peeps  through  the  door  dividing  the  rooms, 
proposed  that  it  should  be  closed.  He  shut  it  himself, 
and  as  he  did  so  he  observed  that  Tommy  was  biting 
his  pen  and  frowning,  while  McLauchlan,  having  ceased 
to  think,  was  getting  on  nicely.  But  it  did  not  strike 
Mr.  Dishart  that  this  was  worth  commenting  on. 

“Are  you  not  satisfied  with  the  honors  you  have 
already  got,  you  greedy  man  ? " he  said,  laying  his  hand 
affectionately  on  Mr.  Ogilvy,  who  only  sighed  for  reply. 

“ It  is  well  that  the  prize  should  go  to  different  lo- 
calities, for  in  that  way  its  sphere  of  usefulness  is 
extended,  ” remarked  pompous  Mr.  Gloag,  who  could  be 
impartial,  as  there  was  no  candidate  from  Noran  Side. 
He  was  a minister  much  in  request  for  church  soirees, 
where  he  amused  the  congregations  so  greatly  with 
personal  anecdote  about  himself  that  they  never  thought 
much  of  him  afterwards.  There  is  one  such  minister  in 
every  presbytery. 

“And  to  have  carried  the  Hugh  Blackadder  seven 
times  running  is  surely  enough  for  any  one  locality, 
even  though  it  be  Glenquharity,”  said  Mr.  Lorrimen 
preparing  for  defeat. 


460 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“There’s  consolation  for  you,  sir,”  said  Mr.  Cathro, 
sarcastically,  to  his  rival,  who  tried  to  take  snuff  in 
sheer  bravado,  but  let  it  slip  through  his  fingers,  and 
after  that,  until  the  two  hours  were  up,  the  talk  was 
chiefly  of  how  Tommy  would  get  on  at  Aberdeen.  But 
it  was  confined  to  the  four  ministers  and  one  dominie. 
Mr.  Ogilvy  still  hovered  about  the  door  of  communica- 
tion, and  his  face  fell  more  and  more,  making  Mr. 
Dishart  quite  unhappy. 

“I’m  an  old  fool,”  the  Dominie  admitted,  “but  I 
can’t  help  being  cast  down.  The  fact  is  that  — I have 
only  heard  the  scrape  of  one  pen  for  nearly  an  hour.” 
“Poor  Lauchlan!”  exclaimed  Mr.  Cathro,  rubbing 
his  hands  gleefully,  and  indeed  it  was  such  a shameless 
exhibition  that  the  Auld  Licht  minister  said  reproach- 
fully, “You  forget  yourself,  Mr.  Cathro,  let  us  not  be 
unseemly  exalted  in  the  hour  of  our  triumph.” 

Then  Mr.  Cathro  sat  upon  his  hands  as  the  best  way 
of  keeping  them  apart,  but  the  moment  Mr.  Dishart’s 
back  presented  itself,  he  winked  at  Mr.  Ogilvy. 

He  winked  a good  deal  more  presently. 

For  after  all  — how  to  tell  it!  Tommy  was  ignomini- 
ously  beaten,  making  such  a beggarly  show  that  the 
judges  thought  it  unnecessary  to  take  the  essays  home 
with  them  for  leisurely  consideration  before  pronoun- 
cing Mr.  Lauchlan  McLauchlan  winner.  There  was 
quite  a commotion  in  the  school  room.  At  the  end  of 
the  allotted  time  the  two  competitors  had  been  told  to 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  461 


hand  in  their  essays,  and  how  Mr.  McLauehlan  was 
sniggering  is  not  worth  recording,  so  dumfounded, 
confused,  and  raging  was  Tommy.  He  clung  to  his 
papers,  crying  fiercely  that  the  two  hours  could  not  be 
up  yet,  and  Lauchlan  having  tried  to  keep  the  laugh  in 
too  long  it  exploded  in  his  mouth,  whereupon,  said  he, 
with  a guffaw,  “ He  hasna  written  a word  for  near  an 
hour!  ” 

“What!  It  was  you  I heard!”  cried  Mr.  Ogilvy 
gleaming,  while  the  unhappy  Cathro  tore  the  essay 
from  Tommy’s  hands.  Essay!  It  was  no  more  an 
essay  than  a twig  is  a tree,  for  the  gowk  had  stuck  in 
the  middle  of  his  second  page.  Yes,  stuck  is  the  right 
expression,  as  his  chagrined  teacher  had  to  admit  when 
the  boy  was  cross-examined.  He  had  not  been  “ up  to 
some  of  his  tricks,”  he  had  Ltuck,  and  his  explanations, 
as  you  will  admit,  merely  emphasized  his  incapacity. 

He  had  brought  himself  to  public  scorn  for  lack  of  * 
word.  What  word  ? they  asked  testily,  but  even  no* 
he  could  not  tell.  He  had  wanted  a Scotch  word  tha* 
would  signify  how  many  people  were  in  church,  and  i 
was  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  but  would  come  no  farther 
Puckle  was  nearly  the  word,  but  it  did  not  mean  so 
many  people  as  he  meant.  The  hour  had  gone  by  just 
like  winking;  he  had  forgotten  all  about  time  while 
searching  his  mind  for  the  word. 

When  Mr.  Ogilvy  heard  this  he  seemed  to  be  much 
impressed,  repeatedly  he  nodded  his  head  as  some  beat 


462 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


time  to  music,  and  he  muttered  to  himself,  “The  right 
word  — yes,  that  ’s  everything,”  and  “‘the  time  went 
by  like  winking  ? — exactly,  precisely,”  and  he  would 
have  liked  to  examine  Tommy’s  bumps,  but  did  not, 
nor  said  a word  aloud,  for  was  he  not  there  in  McLauch- 
lan’s  interest  ? 

The  other  five  were  furious;  even  Mr.  Lorrimer, 
though  his  man  had  won,  could  not  smile  in  face  of 
such  imbecility.  “You  little  tattie  doolie,”  Cathro 
roared,  “ were  there  not  a dozen  words  to  wile  from  if 
you  had  an  ill-will  to  puckle  ? What  ailed  you  at 
manzy,  or ” 

“I  thought  of  manzy,”  replied  Tommy,  wofully,  for 
he  was  ashamed  of  himself,  “ but  — but  a manzy  ’s  a 
swarm.  It  would  mean  that  the  folk  in  the  kirk  were 
buzzing  thegither  like  bees,  instead  of  sitting  still.” 
“Even  if  it  does  mean  that,”  said  Mr  Duthie,  with 
impatience,  “ what  was  the  need  of  being  so  particular  ? 
Surely  the  art  of  essay-writing  consists  in  using  the 
first  word  that  comes  and  hurrying  on.” 

“That’s  how  I did,”  said  the  proud  McLauchlan, 
who  is  now  leader  of  a party  in  the  church,  and  a figure 
in  Edinburgh  during  the  month  of  May. 

“I  see,”  interposed  Mr.  Gloag,  “that  McLauchlan 
speaks  of  there  being  a mask  of  people  in  the  church. 
Mask  is  a fine  Scotch  word.” 

“Admirable,”  assented  Mr.  Dishart.  “I  thought  of 
mask,”  whimpered  Tommy,  “but  that  would  mean  the 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  463 

kirk  was  crammed,  and  I just  meant  it  to  be  middling 
full.” 

“Flow  would  have  done,”  suggested  Mr.  Lorrimer. 

“Flow  ’s  but  a handful,”  said  Tommy. 

“ Curran,  then,  you  jackanapes ! ” 

“Curran  *s  no  enough.” 

Mr.  Lorrimer  flung  up  his  hands  in  despair. 

“I  wanted  something  between  curran  and  mask,”  said 
Tommy,  dogged,  yet  almost  at  the  crying. 

Mr.  Ogilvy,  who  had  been  hiding  his  admiration 
with  difficulty,  spread  a net  for  him.  “You  said  you 
wanted  a word  that  meant  middling  full.  Well,  why 
did  you  not  say  middling  full  — or  fell  mask  ? ” 

“Yes,  why  not?”  demanded  the  ministers,  uncon- 
sciously caught  in  the  net. 

“I  wanted  one  word,”  replied  Tommy,  unconsciously 
avoiding  it. 

“You  jewel!”  muttered  Mr.  Ogilvy  under  his  breath, 
but  Mr.  Cathro  would  have  banged  the  boy’s  head  had 
not  the  ministers  interfered. 

“It  is  so  easy,  too,  to  find  the  right  word,”  said  Mr. 
Gloag. 

“It’s  no;  it’s  as  difficult  as  to  hit  a squirrel,” 
cried  Tommy,  and  again  Mr.  Ogilvy  nodded  ap- 
proval. 

But  the  ministers  were  only  pained. 

“The  lad  is  merely  a numskull,”  said  Mr.  Dishart, 
kindly. 


464 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ And  no  teacher  could  have  turned  him  into  anything 
else,”  said  Mr.  Duthie. 

“And  so,  Cathro,  you  need  not  feel  sore  over  your 
defeat,”  added  Mr.  Gloag;  but  nevertheless  Cathro  took 
Tommy  by  the  neck  and  ran  him  out  of  the  parish 
school  of  Thrums.  When  he  returned  to  the  others  he 
found  the  ministers  congratulating  McLauchlan,  whose 
nose  was  in  the  air,  and  complimenting  Mr.  Ogilvy, 
who  listened  to  their  formal  phrases  solemnly  and 
accepted  their  hand-shakes  with  a dry  chuckle. 

“ Ay,  grin  away,  sir,”  the  mortified  dominie  of 
Thrums  said  to  him  sourly,  “the  joke  is  on  your  side.” 
“You  are  right,  sir,”  replied  Mr.  Ogilvy,  mysteri- 
>usly,  “ the  joke  is  on  my  side,  and  the  best  of  it  is  that 
not  one  of  you  knows  what  the  joke  is ! ” 

And  then  an  odd  thing  happened  As  they  were 
preparing  to  leave  the  school,  the  door  opened  a little 
and  there  appeared  in  the  aperture  the  face  of  Tommy, 
tear-stained  but  excited.  “I  ken  the  word  now,”  he 
cried,  “it  came  to  me  a’  at  once;  it  is  hantlel” 

The  door  closed  with  a victorious  bang,  just  in  time 
to  prevent  Cathro 

“ Oh,  the  sumph ! ” exclaimed  Mr.  Lauchlan  McLauch 
lan,  “ as  if  it  mattered  what  the  word  is  now ! ” 

And  said  Mr.  Dishart,  “Cathro,  you  had  better  tell 
Aaron  Latta  that  the  sooner  he  sends  this  nincompoop 
to  the  herding  the  better.” 

But  Mr.  Ogilvy  giving  his  Lauchlan  a push  that 


FOUR  MINISTERS  WHO  KNEW  TOMMY  SANDYS  4Go 

nearly  sent  him  sprawling,  said  in  an  ecstasy  to  himself, 
“ He  had  to  think  of  it  till  he  got  it  — and  he  got  it. 
The  laddie  is  a genius ! ” They  were  about  to  tear  up 
Tommy’s  essay,  but  he  snatched  it  from  them  and  put 
it  in  his  oxter  pocket.  “I  am  a collector  of  curiosities,” 
he  explained,  “and  this  paper  may  be  worth  money 
yet.” 

“Well,”  said  Cathro,  savagely,  “I  have  one  satisfac 
tion,  I ran  him  out  of  my  school.” 

“Who  knows,”  replied  Mr.  Ogilvy,  “but  what  you 
may  be  proud  to  dust  a chair  for  him  when  he  comes 
back  ?” 


so 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


THE  END  OP  A BOYHOOD 

Convinced  of  his  own  worthlessness,  Tommy  was 
sufficiently  humble  now,  but  Aaron  Latta,  nevertheless, 
marched  to  the  square  on  the  following  market  day 
and  came  back  with  the  boy’s  sentence,  Elspeth  being 
happily  absent. 

“ I say  nothing  about  the  disgrace  you  have  brought 
on  this  house,”  the  warper  began  without  emotion,  “for 
it  has  been  a shamed  house  since  afore  you  were  born, 
and  it ’s  a small  offence  to  fckail  on  a clarty  floor.  But 
now  I ’ve  done  more  for  you  than  I promised  Jean 
Myles  to  do,  and  you  had  your  pick  atween  college  and 
the  herding,  and  the  herding  you ’ve  chosen  twice.  I 
call  you  no  names,  you  ken  best  what  you/re  fitted  for, 
but  I ’ve  seen  the  farmer  of  the  Dubb  of  Prosen  the 
day,  and  he  was  short-handed  through  the  loss  of  Tod 
Lindertis,  so  you  ’re  fee’d  to  him.  Dinna  think  you 
get  Tod’s  place,  it  ’ll  be  years  afore  you  rise  to  that, 
but  it ’s  right  and  proper  that  as  he  steps  up,  you  should 
step  down.” 

“The  Dubb  of  Prosen!”  cried  Tommy  in  dismay. 
“It ’s  fifteen  miles  frae  here.” 


THE  END  OF  A BOYHOOD 


467 


“It ’s  a*  that.” 

“But  — but  — but  Elspeth  and  me  never  thought  of 
my  being  so  far  away  that  she  couldna  see  me.  We 
thought  of  a farmer  near  Thrums.” 

“The  farther  you’re  frae  her  the  better,”  said  Aaron, 
uneasily,  yet  honestly  believing  what  he  said. 

“It’ll  kill  her,”  Tommy  cried  fiercely.  With  only 
his  own  suTering  to  consider  he  would  probably  have 
nursed  it  into  a play  through  which  he  stalked  as  the 
noble  child  of  misfortune,  but  in  his  anxiety  for 
Elspeth  he  could  still  forget  himself.  “ Fine  you  ken 
she  canna  do  without  me,”  he  screamed. 

“She  maun  be  weaned,”  replied  the  warper,  with  a 
show  of  temper;  he  was  convinced  that  the  sooner 
Elspeth  learned  to  do  without  Tommy  the  better  it 
would  be  for  herself  in  the  end,  but  in  his  way  of 
regarding  the  boy  there  was  also  a touch  of  jealousy, 
pathetic  rather  than  forbidding.  To  him  he  left 
the  task  of  breaking  the  news  to  Elspeth;  and 
Tommy,  terrified  lest  she  should  swoon  under  it, 
was  almost  offended  when  she  remained  calm.  But, 
alas,  the  reason  was  that  she  thought  she  was  going 
with  him. 

“Will  we  have  to  walk  all  the  way  to  the  Dubb  of 
Prosen  ?”  she  asked,  quite  brightly,  and  at  that  Tommy 
twisted  about  in  misery.  “ You  are  no  — you  canna  — ” 
he  began,  and  then  dodged  the  telling.  “We  — we  may 
get  a lift  in  a cart,”  he  said  weakly. 


468 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“ And  I ’ll  sit  aside  you  in  the  fields,  and  make  chains 
o*  the  gowans,  will  I no  ? Speak,  Tommy!  ” 

“Ay  — ay,  will  you,”  he  groaned. 

“And  we’ll  have  a wee,  wee  room  to  oursels, 
and  — — ” 

He  broke  down,  “Oh,  Elspeth,”  he  cried,  “it  was  ill- 
done  of  me  no  to  stick  to  my  books,  and  get  a bursary, 
and  it  was  waur  o’  me  to  bother  about  that  word.  I ’m 

a scoundrel,  I am,  I’ma  black,  I ’m  a ” 

But  she  put  her  hand  on  his  mouth,  saying,  “ I ’m 

fonder  o’  you  than  ever,  Tommy,  and  I ’ll  like  the 

Dubb  o’  Prosen  fine,  and  what  does  it  matter  where  we 
are  when  we  ’re  thegither  ? ” which  was  poor  comfort 
for  him,  but  still  he  could  not  tell  her  the  truth,  and 
so  in  the  end  Aaron  had  to  tell  her.  It  struck  her 

down,  and  the  doctor  had  to  be  called  in  during  the 

night  to  stop  her  hysterics.  When  at  last  she  fell 
asleep  Tommy’s  arm  was  beneath  her,  and  by  and  by  it 
was  in  agony,  but  he  set  his  teeth  and  kept  it  there 
rather  than  risk  waking  her. 

When  Tommy  was  out  of  the  way,  Aaron  did  his 
clumsy  best  to  soothe  her,  sometimes  half  shamefacedly 
pressing  her  cheek  to  his,  and  she  did  not  repel  him, 
but  there  was  no  response.  “Dinna  take  on  in  that 
way,  dawtie,”  he  would  say,  “I’ll  be  good  to  you.” 
“But  you  ’re  no  Tommy,”  Elspeth  answered. 

“I’m  not,  I’m  but  a stunted  tree,  blasted  in  my 
youth,  but  for  a’  that  I would  like  to  have  somebody 


THE  END  OF  A BOYHOOD 


469 


fco  care  for  me,  and  there ’s  none  to  do  ’t,  Elspeth,  if 
you  winna.  I ’ll  gang  walks  wi’  you,  I ’ll  take  you  to 
the  fishing,  I ’ll  come  to  the  garret  at  night  to  hap  you 
up,  I ’ll  — I ’ll  teach  you  the  games  I used  to  play 
mysel’.  I ’m  no  sure  but  what  you  might  make  some- 
thing o’  me  yet,  bairn,  if  you  tried  hard.” 

“But  you  ’re  no  Tommy,”  Elspeth  wailed  again,  and 
when  he  advised  her  to  put  Tommy  out  of  her  mind  for 
a little  and  speak  of  other  things,  she  only  answered 
innocently,  “What  else  is  there  to  speak  about?” 

Mr.  McLean  had  sent  Tommy  a pound,  and  so  was 
done  with  him,  but  Ailie  still  thought  him  a dear, 
though  no  longer  a wonder,  and  Elspeth  took  a strange 
confession  to  her,  how  one  night  she  was  so  angry 
with  God  that  she  had  gone  to  bed  without  saying  her 
prayers.  She  had  just  meant  to  keep  Him  in  suspense 
for  a little,  and  then  say  them,  but  she  fell  asleep.  And 
that  was  not  the  worst,  for  when  she  woke  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  saw  that  she  was  still  living,  she  was  glad  she 
had  not  said  them.  But  next  night  she  said  them 
twice. 

And  this,  too,  is  another  flash  into  her  dark  character. 
Tommy,  who  never  missed  saying  his  prayers  and  could 
say  them  with  surprising  quickness,  told  her,  “ God  is 
fonder  of  lonely  lassies  than  of  any  other  kind,  and 
every  time  you  greet  it  makes  Him  greet,  and  when 
you’re  cheerful  it  makes  Him  cheerful  too.”  This  was 
meant  to  dry  her  eyes,  but  it  had  not  that  effect,  for, 


470 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


said  Elspeth,  vindictively,  “Well,  then,  I ’ll  just  make 
Him  as  miserable  as  I can.” 

When  Tommy  was  merely  concerned  with  his  own 
affairs  he  did  not  think  much  about  God,  but  he  knew 
that  no  other  could  console  Elspeth,  and  his  love  for 
her  usually  told  him  the  right  things  to  say,  and  while 
he  said  them  he  was  quite  carried  away  by  his  senti- 
ments and  even  wept  over  them,  but  within  the  hour 
he  might  be  leering.  They  were  beautiful,  and  were 
repeated  of  course  to  Mrs.  McLean,  who  told  her  hus- 
band of  them,  declaring  that  this  boy’s  love  for  his 
sister  made  her  a better  woman. 

“But  nevertheless,”  said  I vie,  “Mr.  Cathro  assures 
me ” 

“He  is  prejudiced,”  retorted  Mrs.  McLean  warmly, 
prejudice  being  a failing  which  all  women  marvel  at. 
“Just  listen  to  what  the  boy  said  to  Elspeth  to-day. 
He  said  to  her,  c When  I am  away,  try  for  a whole  day 
to  be  better  than  you  ever  were  before,  and  think  of 
nothing  else,  and  then  when  prayer-time  comes  you 
will  see  that  you  have  been  happy  without  knowing  it.’ 
Fancy  his  finding  out  that.” 

“I  wonder  if  he  ever  tried  it  himself?”  said  Mr. 
McLean. 

“I vie,  think  shame  of  yourself!  ” 

“Well,  even  Cathro  admits  that  he  has  a kind  of 
cleverness,  but ” 

“Cleverness!”  exclaimed  Ailie,  indignantly,  “that 


HIE  END  OF  A BOYHOOD 


471 


is  not  cleverness,  it  is  holiness  ; ” and  leaving  the  cynic 
she  sought  Elspeth,  and  did  her  good  by  pointing  out 
that  a girl  who  had  such  a brother  should  try  to  save 
him  pain.  “He  is  very  miserable,  dear,”  she  said, 
“because  you  are  so  unhappy.  If  you  looked  brighter, 
think  how  that  would  help  him,  and  it  would  show  that 
you  are  worthy  of  him.”  So  Elspeth  went  home  trying 
hard  to  look  brighter,  but  made  a sad  mess  of  it. 

“ Think  of  getting  letters  f rae  me  every  time  the  post 
comes  in ! ” said  Tommy,  and  then  indeed  her  face 
shone. 

And  then  Elspeth  could  write  to  him  — yes,  as  often 
as  ever  she  liked!  This  pleased  her  even  more.  It 
was  such  an  exquisite  thought  that  she  could  not  wait, 
but  wrote  the  first  one  before  he  started,  and  he  answered 
it  across  the  table.  And  Mrs.  McLean  made  a letter 
bag,  with  two  strings  to  it,  and  showed  her  how  to 
carry  it  about  with  her  in  a safer  place  than  a pocket. 

Then  a cheering  thing  occurred.  Came  Corp,  with 
the  astounding  news  that,  in  the  Glenquharity  dominie’s 
opinion,  Tommy  should  have  got  the  Hugh  Blackadder. 

“He  says  he  is  glad  he  wasna  judge,  because  he 
would  have  had  to  give  you  the  prize,  and  he  laughs 
like  to  split  at  the  ministers  for  giving  it  to  Lauchlan 
McLauchlan.” 

Now,  great  was  the  repute  of  Mr.  Ogilvy,  and  Tommy 
gaped  incredulous.  “He  had  no  word  of  that  at  the 
time,”  he  said. 


472 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


“No  likely!  He  says  if  the  ministers  was  so  doited 
as  to  think  his  loon  did  best,  it  wasna  for  him  to  conter 
them.” 

“Man,  Corp,  you  ca*  me  me  aff  my  feet!  How  do  you 
ken  this  ? ” 

Corp  had  promised  not  to  tell,  and  he  thought  he  did 
not  tell,  but  Tommy  was  too  clever  for  him.  Grizel, 
it  appeared,  had  heard  Mr.  Ogilvy  saying  this  strange 
thing  to  the  doctor,  and  she  burned  to  pass  it  on  to 
Tommy,  but  she  could  not  carry  it  to  him  herself, 
because  — Why  was  it  f Oh,  yes,  because  she  hated 
him.  So  she  made  a messenger  of  Corp,  and  warned 
him  against  telling  who  had  sent  him  with  the  news. 

Half  enlightened,  Tommy  began  to  strut  again.  “ You 
see  there  ’s  something  in  me  for  all  they  say,”  he  told 
Elspeth.  “Listen  to  this.  At  the  bursary  examina- 
tions there  was  some  English  we  had  to  turn  into  Latin, 
and  it  said,  * No  man  ever  attained  supreme  eminence 
who  worked  for  mere  lucre  ; such  efforts  must  ever  be 
bounded  by  base  mediocrity.  None  shall  climb  high 
but  he  who  climbs  for  love,  for  in  truth  where  the  heart 
is,  there  alone  shall  the  treasure  be  found.  * Elspeth, 
it  came  ower  me  in  a clink  how  true  that  was,  and  I sat 
saying  it  to  myself,  though  I saw  Gav  Dishart  and 
Willie  Simpson  and  the  rest  beginning  to  put  it  into 
Latin  at  once,  as  little  ta’en  up  wiJ  the  words  as  if  they 
had  been  about  auld  Hannibal.  I aye  kent,  Elspeth, 
that  I could  never  do  much  at  the  learning,  but  I didna 


THE  END  OF  A BOYHOOD 


47S 


see  the  reason  till  I read  that.  Syne  I kent  that  playing 
so  real-like  in  the  Den,  and  telling  about  my  fits  when 
it  wasna  me  that  had  them  but  Corp,  and  mourning  for 
Lewis  Doig’s  father,  and  writing  letters  for  folk  so 
grandly,  and  a*  my  other  queer  ploys  that  ended  in 
Cathro’s  calling  me  Sentimental  Tommy,  was  what  my 
heart  was  in,  and  I saw  in  a jiffy  that  if  thae  things 
were  work,  I should  soon  rise  to  supreme  eminence.” 

“ But  they  ’re  no,”  said  Elspeth,  sadly. 

“No,”  he  admitted,  his  face  falling,  “but,  Elspeth,  if 
I was  to  hear  some  day  of  work  I could  put  my  heart 
into  as  if  it  were  a game ! I wouldna  be  lang  in  finding 
the  treasure  syne.  Oh,  the  blatter  I would  make  ! ” 

“ I doubt  there  ?s  no  sic  work,”  she  answered,  but  he 
told  her  not  to  be  so  sure.  “ I thought  there  wasna  my- 
seP,”  he  said,  “ till  now,  but  sure  as  death  my  heart  was 
as  ta’en  up  wP  hunting  for  the  right  word  as  if  it  had 
been  a game,  and  that  was  how  the  time  slipped  by  so 
quick.  Yet  it  was  paying  work,  for  the  way  I did  it 
made  Mr.  Ogilvy  see  I should  have  got  the  prize,  and 
a*  body  kens  there  ?s  more  cleverness  in  him  than  in  a 
cart-load  o’  ministers.” 

“ But,  but  there  are  no  more  Hugh  Blackadders  to  try 
for,  Tommy  ? ” 

“ That  *s  nothing,  there  maun  be  other  work  o?  the 
same  kind.  Elspeth,  cheer  up,  I tell  you,  I ’ll  find  a wy  ! ” 
“ But  you  didna  ken  yourseP  that  you  should  have  got 
the  Hugh  Blackadder  ? ” 


474 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


He  would  not  let  this  depress  him.  “ I ken  now,”  he 
said.  Nevertheless,  why  he  should  have  got  it  was  a 
mystery  which  he  longed  to  fathom.  Mr.  Ogilvy  had 
returned  to  Glenquharity,  so  that  an  explanation  could 
not  be  drawn  from  him  even  if  he  were  willing  to  supply 
it,  which  was  improbable ; but  Tommy  caught  Grizel  in 
the  Banker’s  Close  and  compelled  her  to  speak. 

“I  won’t  tell  you  a word  of  what  Mr.  Ogilvy  said,” 
she  insisted,  in  her  obstinate  way,  and,  oh,  how  she 
despised  Corp  for  breaking  his  promise. 

“ Corp  didna  ken  he  telled  me,”  said  Tommy,  less  to 
clear  Corp  than  to  exalt  himself,  “ I wriggled  it  out  o’ 
him ; ” but  even  this  did  not  bring  Grizel  to  a proper 
frame  of  mind,  so  he  said,  to  annoy  her, 

“ At  any  rate  you  ’re  fond  o’  me.” 

“I  am  not,”  she  replied,  stamping;  “I  think  you  are 
horrid.” 

i 

“ What  else  made  you  send  Corp  to  me  ? ” 

“ I did  that  because  I heard  you  were  calling  yourself 
a blockhead.” 

“ Oho,”  said  he,  “ so  you  have  been  speiring  about  me 
though  you  winna  speak  to  me ! ” 

Grizel  looked  alarmed,  and  thinking  to  weaken  his 
case,  said,  hastily,  “I  very  nearly  kept  it  from  you,  I 
said  often  to  myself  ‘I  won’t  tell  him.’” 

“ So  you  have  been  thinking  a lot  about  me  ! ” was  his 
prompt  comment. 

“If  I have,”  she  retorted,  “I  did  not  think  nice 


THE  END  OF  A BOYHOOD 


475 


things.  And  what  is  more,  I was  angry  with  myself 
for  telling  Corp  to  tell  you  ” 

Surely  this  was  crushing,  but  apparently  Tommy  did 
not  think  so,  for  he  said,  “ You  did  it  against  your  will ! 
That  means  I have  a power  over  you  that  you  canna 
resist.  Oho,  oho  ! ” 

Had  she  become  more  friendly  so  should  he,  had  she 
shed  one  tear  he  would  have  melted  immediately;  but 
she  only  looked  him  up  and  down  disdainfully,  and  it 
hardened  him.  He  said  with  a leer,  “ I ken  what  makes 
you  hold  your  hands  so  tight,  it  ’s  to  keep  your  arms 
frae  wagging;  ” and  then  her  cry,  “How  do  you  know  ?” 
convicted  her.  He  had  not  succeeded  in  his  mission, 
but  on  his  way  home  he  muttered,  triumphantly,  “ I 
did  her,  I did  her ! ” and  once  he  stopped  to  ask  him- 
self the  question,  “Was  it  because  my  heart  was  in 
it  ? ” It  was  their  last  meeting  till  they  were  man  and 
woman. 

A blazing  sun  had  come  out  on  top  of  heavy  showers, 
and  the  land  reeked  and  smelled  as  of  the  wash-tub. 
The  smaller  girls  of  Monypenny  were  sitting  in  pas 
sages  playing  at  fivey,  just  as  Sappho  for  instance  used 
to  play  it;  but  they  heard  the  Dubb  of  Prosen  cart 
draw  up  at  Aaron  Latta’s  door,  and  they  followed  it 
to  see  the  last  of  Tommy  Sandy s.  Corp  was  already 
there,  calling  in  at  the  door  every  time  he  heard  a sob ; 
“Dinna,  Elspeth,  dinna,  he  ’ll  find  a wy,”  but  Grizel  had 


476 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


refused  to  come,  though  Tommy  knew  that  she  had  been 
asking  when  he  started  and  which  road  the  cart  would 
take.  Well,  he  was  not  giving  her  a thought  at  any 
rate;  his  box  was  in  the  cart  now,  and  his  face  was 
streaked  with  tears  that  were  all  for  Elspeth.  She 
should  not  have  come  to  the  door,  but  she  came,  and  — 
it  was  such  a pitiable  sight  that  Aaron  Latta  could  not 
look  on.  He  went  hurriedly  to  his  workshop,  but  not 
to  warp,  and  even  the  carter  was  touched  and  he  said 
to  Tommy,  “ I tell  you  what,  man,  I have  to  go  round 
by  Causeway  End  smiddy,  and  you  and  the  crittur  have 
time,  if  you  like,  to  take  the  short  cut  and  meet  me  at 
the  far  corner  o’  Caddam  wood.” 

So  Tommy  and  Elspeth,  holding  each  other’s  hands, 
took  the  short  cut  and  they  came  to  the  far  end  of 
Caddam,  and  Elspeth  thought  they  had  better  say  it 
here  before  the  cart  came;  but  Tommy  said  he  would 
walk  back  with  her  through  the  wood  as  far  as  the 
Toom  Well,  and  they  could  say  it  there.  They  tried 
to  say  it  at  the  W ell,  but  — Elspeth  was  still  with  him 
when  he  returned  to  the  far  corner  of  Caddam,  where 
the  cart  was  now  awaiting  him.  The  carter  was  sitting 
on  the  shaft,  and  he  told  them  he  was  in  no  hurry,  and 
what  is  more,  he  had  the  delicacy  to  turn  his  back  on 
them  and  struck  his  horse  with  the  reins  for  looking 
round  at  the  sorrowful  pair.  They  should  have  said 
it  now,  but  first  Tommy  walked  back  a little  bit  of  the 
way  with  Elspeth,  and  then  she  came  back  with  him, 


A GIRL  ROSE  FROM  AMONG  THE  BROOM 


/ 


o'\ 


Of  l 


*a  ' in ...  ..  l .■'■*  ■ ■ ■ iL. 


THE  END  OF  A BOYHOOD 


477 


and  that  was  to  be  the  last  time,  but  he  could  not  leave 
her,  and  so,  there  they  were  in  the  wood,  looking  wofully 
at  each  other,  and  it  was  not  said  yet. 

They  had  said  it  now,  and  all  was  over;  they  were 
several  paces  apart.  Elspeth  smiled,  she  had  promised 
to  smile  because  Tommy  said  it  would  kill  him  if  she 
was  greeting  at  the  very  end.  But  what  a smile  it  was  ! 
Tommy  whistled,  he  had  promised  to  whistle  to  show 
that  he  was  happy  as  long  as  Elspeth  could  smile.  She 
stood  still,  but  he  went  on,  turning  round  every  few 
yards  to  — to  whistle.  “ Never  forget,  day  nor  night, 
what  I said  to  you,”  he  called  to  her.  “You’re  the 
only  one  I love,  and  I care  not  a hair  for  Grizel.” 

But  when  he  disappeared,  shouting  to  her,  “ I ’ll  find 
a wy,  I ’ll  find  a wy,”  she  screamed  and  ran  after  him. 
He  was  already  in  the  cart,  and  it  had  started.  He 
stood  up  in  it  and  waved  his  hand  to  her,  and  she  stood 
on  the  dyke  and  waved  to  him,  and  thus  they  stood  wav- 
ing till  a hollow  in  the  road  swallowed  cart  and  man  and 
boy.  Then  Elspeth  put  her  hands  to  her  eyes  and  went 
sobbing  homeward. 

When  she  was  gone,  a girl  who  had  heard  all  that 
passed  between  them  rose  from  among  the  broom  of 
Caddam  and  took  Elspeth’s  place  on  the  dyke,  where  she 
stood  motionless  waiting  for  the  cart  to  reappear  as  it 
climbed  the  other  side  of  the  hollow.  She  wore  a black 
frock  and  a blue  bonnet  with  white  strings,  but  the  cart 
was  far  away,  and  Tommy  thought  she  was  Elspeth,  and 


478 


SENTIMENTAL  TOMMY 


springing  to  his  feet  again  in  the  cart  he  waved  and 
waved.  At  first  she  did  not  respond,  for  had  she  not 
heard  him  say,  “ You’re  the  only  one  I love,  and  I care 
not  a hair  for  Grizel  ? ” And  she  knew  he  was  mistak- 
ing her  for  Elspeth.  But  by  and  by  it  struck  her  that 
he  would  be  more  unhappy  if  he  thought  Elspeth  was 
too  overcome  by  grief  to  wave  to  him.  Her  arms  rocked 
passionately ; no,  no,  she  would  not  lift  them  to  wave  to 
him,  he  could  be  as  unhappy  as  he  chose.  Then  in  a 
spirit  of  self-abnegation  that  surely  raised  her  high 
among  the  daughters  of  men,  though  she  was  but  a 
painted  lady’s  child,  she  waved  to  him  to  save  him  pain, 
and  he,  still  erect  in  the  cart,  waved  back  until  nothing 
could  be  seen  by  either  of  them  save  wood  and  fields 
and  a long,  deserted  road. 


. 


